they Drive over the Dirt in their Trucks like they Don’t even Care that it’s Earth

The last plot of grass in the neighborhood
Was actually a field
And therefore a home
To the mice and rabbits and bugs.
No more. 

I hope they fled.
I hope they heard the machines
And cleared the fence barricade
That showed up one morning
Letting the mice and everyone know
That Eagle construction had arrived.

The foxes fled years ago
Somewhere between the Enclave apartments
and the old folks home
that destroyed their dens

I hope the owls don’t leave
But they’ll probably have to
Now that the mice are gone

They drive over the dirt in their trucks 
Like they don’t even care
That it’s Earth 

Scum
who turn beautiful things ugly
for money