Destination
Heaped full, under brown humped canvas
Flapping wild, is their garbage secured ?
Pressing west leaving East's big cities,
Not treasured, their trove's on board.
Sleepy eyed with the hammer down
He hears his metal stallions floored,
Gulping in clean air to guzzle more fuel,
Pipes puke blue, that black lung sword.
Dank smells trail to our fair meadows
Destination figured to fume you and me.
Gonads great are gorged of garbage
Which rut our lands long green and free.
When fields serviced huge ugly landfills rise,
But you must be careful of what you cannot see.
Clear treasured waters, clean, sparkling, pure blue
Are gone, gone just as they, the Lenni Lenape .
Ronald C. Downie
No comments:
Post a Comment