Field and Stream once ran a series titled Witness to Outrage. Here, I bear witness. |
Rape of the Swan Pond
I slave pick numbers on a plantation Escape my cube sour orange mental tired The dingy high rise spits me to the street I join the angry swarm to compete my way home. Elms had no leaves to hide it in winter A slender shimmering slice glimpsed from the highway The pond lay just below a meadow hill It was then I vowed visit, some cool summer eve From a whim came a weekly diversion To walk the hoof beaten cow path to solemn shores Where elms encircle the pond like bleachers A cathedral to sooth and cool a damaged soul Lilly pad pontoons for fat resting frogs Tadpole tails stir the bottom as they wriggle Neon damselfly zips madly about Spears of cattails part way for the feeder brook Arched neck like a glassblower’s handiwork The head lowered in graceful prayer and communion Adjoining his white throw pillow body Paddle to and fro, not obliged to stay or go Books claim the Trumpeter Swan mates for life But like me he has no mate to share this journey Did we choose or was it thrust upon us? Presently we abide in lonesome dignity A “grow or die” town sprawls and devours The summer turns to fall and change must surely come Money takes what consumers desire So disharmony came to the peaceful swan pond Now a black pipe drains into brown mud soup Caked dirt is ugly on the yellow bulldozer Tread ripped puddled road surrounding the pond Thin beige vinyl houses are replacing the elms But I take heart for I have saved wisely After the coming downsize when I am forced free Quest for a swan pond and build my cabin Devout custodian to sacred harmony. |