She reached in her pockets and
found them too deep.
Calling the excavation team, she cried
“Help! I can’t seem to find
the sense in this.”

Men and women in bright vests, hard hats
extended hands to neighbors, coworkers,
elders, the uninsured, “take this, please,
and distribute the rest.”

Like a block party in July,
plaid table clothes were laid,
children shared shiny bikes,
and sprinklers waved back and forth.

At the lake, they picked up trash,
tossing the world’s last-ever
plastic meat tray
into a dumpster.

The birds returned, slowly at first,
and then in great numbers.
On the air, music – 
a sweet, hip-swaying rhythm.

And just like that
all the CEOs turned out their pockets,
Senior Leadership too.
Boardrooms filled with houseplants,
buildings gilded with solar panels,
mosses clinging to high-rises.

Cities breathing, more oxygen,
more cool breezes. In the high desert,
the ancient bristlecones noticed
and brightened.
Pinyons punched through
parched earth, pushing aside
a few stray cattle.

Universities opened their gates
and declared learning free.
New pages grew from the
discarded bindings of every book
ever burned or banned,
passing from hand to hand,
with heartfelt discussion and
heated debate.

As the native prairie grasses
re-burrowed their deep roots,
generosity swept the nation.
Each man, woman, and child
with time to watch a lizard ponder
its next move, waiting in peace,
its bumpy neck flaring
with each inhalation.