Poem: Pristine Bay

I was reading about "Honduras is Open for Business" recently.

In the days after the coup, searching for information, I came across this sickening piece. I planned to post about it then, but didn't. And now, an update. So I've composed another found poem (and another poem about Honduras) from these two "news" items.

Pristine Bay

Trade winds, unfettered views.
A foreign country,
shimmering, exotic,
jewel of the Caribbean.
Open to enjoy,
ringed by a narrow bunker.

A "soft opening,”
the bulldozers come in slowly.
Their designs, their culture.
Down there shooting,
digging up other people's property.
We're gonna move you out.

Tropical weather,
rioting in the streets,
pesticides ruining the reef,
guys threw the president out in his pajamas.
I hate to be crass, but
the crisis is not happening on the golf course.

We've seen some coups!
Down there in the Dominican Republic,
we were just starting.
Made a fortune,
worked all around the world.
They'll take a little less for a lot now.