there is a brand new greenhouse
standing on a field once yellow with long grasses
where a rotting old barn used to stand,
a place where small rodents
and the ever elusive barn own lived

a greenhouse
with perfectly clean panes
that mirror the moon’s image
and its dull light
year round

a greenhouse
smothering the fertile delta
with grow lights
reflecting an orange halo off the clouds

in the winter
steam emanates from its boiler
billowing out of a small smokestack
like warm moist breath from a bull on a cold day
or an industrial plant
filled with imperatives
and systems of production:

genetically engineer
B.C. Hothouse
red tomatoes in aisle one at your local Safeway

each little pot of dirt grows boldly
protected from the scourge of
blight, mealy bugs, aphids
and the infamous spider mite
suspended above the ground on benches
their roots
desperately straining to gain a hold
of the earth
lying beneath the concrete floor