Pals | M Sean Dowd | One Act Play

Act I Scene III

 The Three Witches Portend What is to Come


Dedicated to “PALS,” the Preservation of Agricultural Lands Society originally established to save lands in the Niagara Fruit Belt and now growing in Southern China and Batam Island.


Witch 1            When shall we greet greed again?

When gardens gone they know the pain When hungers rue be our great gain When man as god’s a silly game

That’s played its course… Evolved!




Witch 2            Where shall we grow fruits and grains? These wooded lands show too few gains Grow instead where water’s none

We’ll grow them Californians Hahahaha


Witch 3            How shall fertile lands be made

To bare but what we sow?

We’ll feed them poisons to all else Then greed well sewn we’ll reap

A harvest bounty more by far than known before to man A bounty goodly nature knows be seldom seen…





Me Me Me       Ha! Ha!Ha? Ha? Who goes there? Who speaks to me?

Of such great and good utility? Of power which I feel born to me.

Deserved, mine! Now all shall see That I alone do hold the key

to all of life’s great mysteries

So thanks to you my goodly three,

(Simple cost accountants, Chemical Companies & Land Developers) kind spirits serve me well

The dreams you’ve sent shall spur me on I’ll push with new found vigour


But wait! These supernatural solicitacions, these multinational corporations Cannot be true

Cannot be false

I’m in the brain drain corridor I’ve quaffed their fruity wines and yet, if true

Why do my usually nimble fingers curl and writhe in pain


and I suck at my thumb against the use of nature?


These rows of God sent, tasty fruit

are stripped

and malls now form the root

of all that’s evil in my garden home around Niagara


Once strong branched plants grew hearty stalks

Now stocks less friendly hunt these woods for weakened game

can spring new shoots in southern climes where deeper roots

hold plant succession fast


Yet visions have I still of plants that left to grow unpruned. Grew heavy, leaden, laden far beyond what they could hold. So laden with the heavy pull of fruit soon to be rotten that plants then dreamt of cold hard steel and wished for cuts less cruel.


A caring farmer knows to prune be kind and cut or chop

with steel that’s cold in dormant times it will protect your crop

The city folk cut less, they fear or laissez-faire, cut not.

Short cropped trees to them seem not fair before, they’ve seen them not!

They think them stunted. “Let them grow”

more fruit will then I have

More fruit and fewer trees I’ve need of for I’d rather see

a land use that I’ve greater need of “Come on, play the game!”

We’ll build a home Improve our gains

on land no longer needed

for the talents first God given to the Garden City


These paved fields spill out water now that’s poisoned so with alum.

they cause me loss of faculty

so at an age when wise folks rage

would shut you down in swift and hurried order

I see my usually nimble fingers curl and writhe in pain whilst I suck at my thumb, against the use of nature

Alzheimer’s and senility, when thoughts return to a simpler times


may hold the cure for my hometown in metaphor my rhyme


A choice based on the                                     bottom line

does by extension cause

the loss of too much choice by far

Just cause,     Accounting,                     Economic need Tell not how increased yields, net squalor Apparitions all

Your opportunity costs much more than interest in your dollar bears

Return the land

to proud new owners

Strip the malls, of right of place Clean up your act

Revive our Garden City


Photo by Phil Robson on Unsplash


M Sean Dowd lives and writes in Spain near Vigo In Galicia. His family belongs to the Nation of Métis of Ontario in Canada.

Credits include from the 1990’s, Gitmo begone, in Serai Magazine of Montreal, poems in Polar Borealis and Polar Starlight (BC Canada) , CNF in Syncopation Literary journal of Toronto and an upcoming novella with Hear our Voice LLC in SC USA.

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