These grey skies stretch like dirty washing
Enclosing the trampled ground,
Here and there a scarecrow dog or cat
Picks its way across the broken streets,
And some weary brown weeds push through
The broken concrete.
A wind blows, laden with dust
Choking the few who wander out
In spite of their scarf-wrapped mouths.
The sea is not far from here,
But the shoreline is a greasy, congealed mess:
Plastic, and rotten bird and fish carcases –
The smell is putrefaction;
Whilst what laps the shores
Is a green alga-infested sludge,
Patched with dark oily scales.
From its underground shelter
A child asks its mother:
“What are these?”
(Pointing to a photo of trees in a book).
“Yesterday,” she replies,
“When we had the chance to save them…
But didn’t.”
Bruce Levitan (born 1955) England (born: Kenya)
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please keep your comments relevant and free from abusive language. Thank you. Note that comments are moderated so it may be a day or two before your comment is posted - irrelevant or abusive comments will not be published.