and yet, and so

You passed us forest fires, tornados in snow, lakes above level.

And yet that revolution long ago brought us industrialized imaginings.

And so we are marching and we are saying thank you.

You started wars before we even knew to write a sentence with proper punctuation.

And yet that day scared us into ceaseless “where were you?” storytelling.

And so we are decrying and we are saying thank you.

You distinguished democrats from republicans until the difference was doubtful.

And yet the capacity to complain against government gives a new common ground.

And so we are muttering and we are saying thank you.

You pumped our seeds with carcinogens, stashed tumors at every turn.

And yet we eat avocados in December and capture quinoa creations on camera.

And so we are boycotting and we are saying thank you.

You created electrical engineering to destroy from a distance.

And yet we are tantalized by technologies just out of reach.

And so we are horrified and we are saying thank you.

You drove a debt so deep Death Valley shut down.

And yet we consume capitalist crazes as if the coins are never ending.

And so we are complaining and we are saying thank you.

You told us we would never witness lightning strike the same place twice.

And yet we watch now the trees splicing a future full of fissures.

And so we are weeping and we are saying thank you.