Oh, the irony

In WWII, the U.S. government mined uranium in the Navajo lands of western New Mexico and eastern Arizona. They left behind mountains of radioactive waste that has poisoned the land and the people ever since. After we blasted Hiroshima and Nagasaki flat and left them teeming cauldrons of radioactivity the demand for uranium changed. Time passed. Now two companies – one of them from Japan – want to start mining uranium in the same area. The . . .

Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “oh, the irony.”

Note: For a history of what uranium has done to the native peoples of New Mexico and Arizona, see the book Yellow Dirt.


Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

3 thoughts on “Oh, the irony”

  1. Oh, the irony of ironing.
    I bought the ironing board and the iron. I put them both neatly in the closet. Then I stacked the clothing needing ironing near by. Then as the stack of clothes began to teeter, I pulled the board and iron out of the closet and set them up. The pile quit teetering and fell, soon other clothing items were thrown upon the pile and the room became a chaotic mess.
    I thought ironing would an orderly and meditative process. Now I only buy permanent press.

  2. Oh, the irony of the grand design of whatever it is that lurks in the heavens, if it is any being at all. Perhaps, it is only clouds that float in a certain sequence, abstract shapes, and the most divine lining that grant it the apparitions of something beyond. Perhaps, it is more, perhaps it is less. Yet, there is this ironic circumference that travels all around us, flicking and firing at our warm winter flesh until we sweat when the snow falls on our ashes.

  3. The VA form letter says cryptically: “MRI results abnormal. Bone lesions. Clinical follow-up recommended.” Doctor couldn’t be bothered to call and explain. Google spits out pages upon pages in response to query about “bone lesions” – all screaming BONE CANCER. Seeking solace from Pandora, my cell phone blares out “No Time.”

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