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​I don’t know why, but Frank Prem’s poetry makes me want to respond to it as more than just a reader. This came to me when I read his piece, the good news.

We bade the little bastard bye
good riddance, none’ll miss him.
A plague upon the land he was.
Rumors biblical, but I dismiss ’em.

I watched the trees shrink each spring,
the flesh on the stone did shrivel.
But I could not abide this end-of-the-world crap,
nor this climate-change-is-a-myth drivel.

No matter what you call it
I will be more than happy to see it go.
Then wait for his sister, La Niña,
who brings an entirely different kind of woe.

M. Zane McClellan

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In response to Frank Oren’s poem, the good news.

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