Fordlandia

Nature takes care of its own The jungle reclaims Fordlândia Decomposing cars rust in derelict workshops Already the Amazon jungle has swamped the Winding Brook Golf Course. Floods have eaten the cemetery, stockpiling crosses. The 100-bed hospital, beautifully designed Lies plundered and perished, a travesty of itself Ford's magnificent homes on Palm Avenue. Is occupied now by squatters. The furniture, doorknobs, interiors, Carted away by predators, human and insect Here farmers, former plantation workers Live in the crumbling wreck of Ford's Utopia The American dream turned nightmare Streetlamps creak over mouldering sidewalks. Dance halls disintegrate, warehouses rot away Ford, the stern teetotaller, banned alcohol Advocated gardening and square dancing (in Rumba land) And poetry readings of dry American poets His sanitation squads destroyed stray dogs, His operatives drained pools of stagnant water To counter the deadly challenge of mosquitoes His employees were vetted for V.D. The complex mushroomed into a golf course, Tennis courts, a movie theatre, Swimming pools and road for his famous cars Where paths are quickly churned to steaming mud Ford left his project, signed it back to Brazil Now, zebu cattle graze there, manioc grows As quickly as they arrived, the Americans left Some, via nervous breakdowns, others ravaged by fever The jungle came back stealthy, reclaimed its birthright