A Poem

The whole of Cook County

Remembers the day

The influx of realtors came

Surging our way.

There were thin ones and fat ones.

The young and the old,

Determined to mark every

Scrap of land "sold."

They came in such numbers,

In waves, like the tides,

Hungry and greedy

And vocal besides.

Never mind we were happy

Without feeling stuck,

The realtors cried "Progress!"

Meaning: "I smell a buck!"

"Let's bulldoze the roads

And plat out the woods,

Cut down lots of trees,

Hey! Who cares if it's good?"

"We're here for the lucre

So we feel that it's fair

To change laws & zoning

And shout down the mayor."

"Downtown needs a facelift."

The city was told.

"Something screwing the view

Like the Cobblestone Cove!"

"We don't like your lifestyle

But don't start to slobber,

'Cause we'll trash, if you let us,

Your cute little harbor."

"Divide and conquer,

Or wear you right out,

We don't care 'cause it's money

That we're all about."

"Like lambs to the slaughter

This town's right for the plucking.

Let our greed be the instrument

Used for the...er...job."

There's been nothing but discord,

Machinations, and worse,

A rash of bad poetry in

Multiple verse.

Always poking and sniffing for

Holes in the hedge,

They're constantly seeking

To insert a new wedge.

I like my sweet town just

The way that it is

And I'm sick of their schemes

And wish they'd take a piss.

But not in our well.

They should take a long hike --

And hurry along --

'Cause I'll be ecstatic the day that they're gone.

Anonymous