|Tick Tick Tick|
Who didn't protest their daily,
childhood wake-up call,
"Get up, you'll be late for school!"
We like our sleep.
Deep, deep sleep.
Wake us from it, and face our protest.
But protest, is what we do.
When the electric bill arrives, and it's
off the chart high - we protest,
"Turn off those lights!"
Filling our car at the pump as the
price flies past $50 we protest,
"The oil companies are screwing us!"
(actually it's Wall St, but that's a
We protest when driving,
"Hey, speed it up buddy, you're
We protest when eating out,
"This food is cold!"
We protest to the doctor,
"My neck still hurts doc.
Whatever you're prescribing,
Protest shapes the emotional bow
of Life's boat, as we plow thru troubled
waters on our cruise to happiness -
sailing towards the day's good stuff:
the smooth bits,
the easy bits,
the laughable bits,
we hit a speed bump,
and boy do we protest,
"Where'd that come from?"
"Who put that there?"
"Why wasn't I notified?"
"Dang, I just spilled my coffee."
Chances are, we were notified the
pesky speed bump was there, for
To protect the neighborhood.
Slowing traffic down to a safe
and sane speed.
Slowing the fools of the world down
before they kill us, is a protest-call
worth making. And to keep making,
until enough people hear it and finally,
grudgingly, wake up.
But waking up, is hard to do.
The News is filled with protest calls
not heard, and or worse - ignored.
How many times have you thought,
"If I'd only known,"
"Hey, I was too busy, okay,"
as nightmare scenario crashes
head-on into grizzled reality.
"I knew the speed bump was there.
I watched them put it there.
Guess I forgot."
What is San Clemente's 40-year old
wake-up call today? - SONGS.
A happy singsongy acronym, glossing
over what we know is man's deadliest
byproduct - nuclear meltdown.
Radioactive contamination on a global
scale. The plume no one escapes.
A 50-mile Evacuation Zone - here?
8-million people stuck in that Zone - here?
An old nuke-facility, sitting on fault lines,
vulnerable to tsunami, and god knows
what else is worth shouting about.
A protest decades overdue.
SONGS' aged nuke-clock is ticking
louder and louder, but waiting until the
final alarm screams - "Evacuate Now!"
before shutting SONGS down, is too late.
And "too-late" in nuke-lingo, is as they
say, "all she wrote."
Apparently Chernobyl, 3-Mile Island and
Fukushima haven't opened enough sleepy
eyes and ears, to SONGS' deadly tune:
nuclear meltdown never stops melting, ever.
We've gotten our wake-up call.
It's spelled F u k u s h i m a.
Will we wake in time to flip SONGS'
nuclear-switch to OFF?
tick, tick, tick, tick, tick...
Ca - 92672