I sit on the curb staring back.
I wonder—what do they know that I don’t?
How can they stare, unblinking,
at this world that the human race
has plasticized,
the Great Outdoors
reduced to spots of weeded gardens
and sister bonsais in their attractive little pots
not even made out of terra cotta clay anymore
but polymer painted in terra cotta dye,
an empty remembrance of what there
used to be?
The nerve! I cry out,
You don’t even have to try, just sit there and look pretty
and hope the unpredictable rain—
or the well-timed sprinkler—
comes before you’re too thirsty.
Or perhaps those are stares of horror—
maybe I’m reading you wrong.
Though it’s more likely wishful thinking on my part,
hoping the other kingdoms see the mess we’ve made of ours,
because maybe then we’d listen.
But really, you’re still beautiful,
in glowing violet and lively green—
you’re alive, in spite of it all.
You’re a fighter, too—
Sir, I exist!
you mouthlessly cry back;
oddly enough I hear you,
and I remember you were not bloomed yesterday
when I last visited this spot—
your blossoms ever so slightly
brightened this corner garden, and
the fact has created in me
a reminder that every world-alteration
begins with a single subtle change.
Info:
Editing status: unedited
Composed: 22 April 2007
Submissions: None, but it's the title poem for my 2007 Chapbook
Inspiration: Sitting on the curb during a break form teaching Sunday School. There were pretty purple and blue flowers. And then I needed a poem to tie in the themes for my chapbook... so I put it together?
