If I were doing my laundry I'd wash my dirty air.

I'd throw in New York City, and scrub-a-dub-dub

until the vandalism and graffiti were no more.

I'd draw my murky waters for the Mississip' and the

Pacific and give them a thorough scouring

before refilling them to the brim with sapphire

waters.

Then I'd fetch my needle and spool and mend my poor

torn Ozone.

Hang the birds of my Brazilian rain forests out to

dry in their homes, allow those beautiful greens

to stay forever.

And set the poverty that is Africa's in the dryer

until it all wilts away into oblivion, never again

to harm my perfect world.