I pause my schedule with a stroll along the Mill Race Park.
Unfortunately, my eyes, heart and soul are assaulted by waves of creeping garbage.
I collect some of the litter, only to dump it into a metal bin rusting out
at the bottom -- garbage goes in, garbage flows back out, strewn around
by spring gusts. Next time, garbage bags are in order.
I will fill them up and carry them home, only to possibly be mistaken for a
homeless man carrying all of his worldly possessions in black, plastic bags.
Oh well, people can laugh at me, then come down here
and spread some more rubbish along this watery, green belt.
A Blue Heron is tentatively fishing amongst the garbage and chemical slicks
shimmering on the water's surface. This bird is the official symbol
of our river-town. We should show some more respect to this regal,
yet ever-secretive member of royalty -- show some more respect to this symbol
of our town's heritage. I will not let this filth drag me down into an abyss
of apathy. To be mistaken for a hobo, is a small price to pay,
in giving back to this Heron, some of the dignity it so deserves.
the blue heron
fishes amongst litter --
a tarnished crown