Wood-chipped Sweat

The workers feel fatigue,
wiping wood-chipped
sweat from their burning brows.

Yet another day at the site,
building bunkers for Buicks;
yet another parking lot,

once a lot of logs –
standing proud and pined.
Only signed stumps remain.

But the workers continue,
lot by lot, wiping the wood chips –
the tears from the trees
that no longer breathe.

A harvested holocaust
in a world unscathed.

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