Just-A-Stick
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I finally wrote a poem again!
WARNING: It's probably the longest I've ever written.
Why Can’t We Fix This?
SpoilerI’m a tiny little worm.I crawl through the dirt, just living,Just doing as I wasCreated to do.I poke my tiny headOutOf the dirt.I wiggle further,Further…Splat!I hit something hard.What is it?I can’t see it, for,I don’t have eyes.I try to push through itTo no avail!I try to go around itBut I can’t escape.I can’t eat it,I can’t get out of it.I am trapped!Over the next while,It becomes hot.Very hot.I can feel the sun, and I tryTo squirm away,But the sun burns me!It’s hot, so very hotI’m drying out,The heat-I am a squirrel.I bounce, too and fro,Collecting food and savingIt away forWinter.My purpose.I see something on the ground!It’s shiny.I creep closer, trying to see…It smells good!I take a small bite of it.It’s slippery, crinkly, and doesn’tTaste like anything I’veEver eaten.A sound comes fromThe hill above me.I smell human.I bound up the nearestTree,Perching where I can see…The human throwsSomething down the hill.Something shiny, roundish,Clear- like water, like ice?The thing hits a rockAnd… shatters?Little bits go flyingEverywhere,Then, the humanLeaves.I wait for a long time,Unmoving.Then, ICreepDownThe tree,Scurry overTo one of thePieces.I sniff at it,But it doesn’t move.It’s so shiny…I reach my paw forward…A stick somewhereBehind me,Cracks suddenly!I jump at the sound,My paw, comes down onThe shard of the thing-It goes right throughMy paw!I squeak in painAnd fright,Bounding up the nearestTree!The thing, now stuckDeep into my paw,Comes with me.I look down at theBark of the treeIn which I cling.It is spattered with blood.I can smell it.It’s my blood.I try to climb higherIn the tree,LimpingAll the way.When I feel I’m safeEnough,I examine my paw.The pain is excruciating,My blood continues to leak fromTorn skin and matted fur.I can still feel the thingInside.It seems to beGougingDeeper.After trying,With no luck,For some timeTo getThe thing outOf my paw,I start to feelSleepy.My paw starts to feelNumb, my headFeelsLight…I have to find my nest,Just toTakeA smallSleep…I am a deer.I’m trotting over my patch ofWoods,My head heldHigh, my eightAntler pointsDisplayed proudly.I am at the top of a small rise,The strange rock I’m standingOn is interlacedWith strange,Metallic-smelling bars.It makes me uneasy, for someReason.It’s going to be fine.Of course it will be.I take oneStepCloser to the edge,Ears alert forAny sign ofDanger.My ears couldNever have warned meOf what happenedNext.The footing underMy front hoovesSuddenly collapses,Tumbling me over the edge!But my rear legs becomeTangled in thoseStrange metallicBars, snagging me painfully.I’m suspended,Upside down,Three deerlengths aboveThe rocky ground.The bars are hard and solid,Digging into my slenderLegs,Cutting them deeply.If only I had knowWhat sharp edgesThey had!I’m kickingFrantically,Trying to break free,Trying to escape the painThe horror of being soPrecariously high!A sound rises in my throat,Tears out my mouth beforeI can stop it.Whether from painOr fear, I can’t tell.I bawl again, continuing to kickFor a long while.I’m getting soTired.I stop struggling, feelingThe weight ofMy bodyPressingDown on myLungs,Blood rushingTo my head.My vision isTurning red,Clouded by the bloodIn my skull.My breath comes in pants.Everything hurts.I have no more strength.I’m bleeding…Bleeding….I’m a person,A young person.I’m waking through the woods,Beside the river.I’m disgusted!There is so much trash!I can’t take a single stepWithout glassCrunchingBeneath my shoes.Plastic and metal protrude fromThe surrounding leaf-litter.A small bird hops over a halfBuried soda can,Another perches onA beer bottle.Tiny, sickly plants attemptTo grow around a deflatedPlastic pool float.Everywhere, there are glass shards,Beer bottles,Smashed cans,Broken containers,Shattered jars,Dirt and rust,Filth and chemicals.Old tires and plastic toysScattered betweenDying, hole-filled, blackenedTrees.Concrete stairs,Cinder blocks,Concrete pads andAn entire cliff,Twisted, sharp, metalSaluting the dead tree branchesAbove.I walk- slide, more like-Down the steep hill, to theBottom of the cliff.I kick aside leaves,Sticks, rotting wood,Cans, glass, bottles,Underneath…There lies an oldDeer skull.An eight point buck.I pick up the skull.It’s white, bleached,It no longer smells.I shake my head,Trying to imagine whatMight haveKilled the poorThing.I look around the dying woods, down to the murky, nasty,WaterBelow.Is there any hope for this land?Can it ever beReturned to whatIt was created to be?Can we reconcile allThat was lost?Can we restart theEcosystem?Diversify the floraAnd faunaAs it once was?I don’t know.I’m but one teenager.What can I do?I think about it,Sweat tricklingDown the back of my neck.The gnats swarming my arms.I need to start back soon,Go back to the clean,Bright cottage.I have a beautiful place toStay, here,But the animals?The permanent residents?Those defenseless againstPollution?Their woods-Where they have been sinceDay fourOf creation-Is now fullOf things they can’tStand against,Things they had no partIn making!Things that onlyDesecrate their habitats,But help us so thatWe can do less work,At the expense of theEcosystem,At the expense of that whichEnables us to live at all.Their woods seem toNo longer beTheir woods.Why can we not fix this?Take care of all thisPollution,Take care of our farms,In turn, our health,The health ofOur children,Grandchildren,Yes, great grandchildren!Why can’t weStopFighting out wars,Our petty squabbles overLand-Land that is slowlyDisappearing.Why don’t we take careOf this wonderful giftGod has blessed us with?Why can’t we fix this?-Stick 4-16-24
