Plastic Portents

The hieroglyphics of doom,
Although pleasing to the eye,
Carry misery in the womb,
Though bright looks the sky.

Omens in blue, white, and red:
The bottles don’t contain
Milk, clouds hanging by thread
Bear no tidings of rain.

The writing on the wall
Proclaims disaster and ruin;
Heed the wake-up call—
A deadly storm is brewing.

This is no land of milk and honey
Even if it’s pretty bright and sunny.