A pelican died today,
Its ridiculous wingspan
As black as a car’s oil pan,
Its feathers slick from the bay.
The reporter reassured
Only a few dozen died.
That’s small comfort to the bird,
Or the beaches washed by tide
The crude rides like a pony.
The BP spokesman’s a pro,
Some might even say phony,
Though why should we even go
Into the valley of blame,
Since we all drove here to see
The latest calamity,
Another dark sort of game?
I like this, conversational tone --like thinking-- and enjambment between 3rd, 4th stanzas secures a current event in the poem, but emotional charge won't erode as it might with a memory.
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