The brown-green beauty of a flowing river
Above which we, electrified, are stopped
Seems artificially and strangely cropped
In ways that make my instincts shiver.
For what should be a lovely, wholesome sight,
A sweet relief from manufactured living
Is overshadowed by the bridges giving
A sense of red decay, orange rust, and blight.
The river sets them off and makes them clear,
For otherwise they would be ordinary.
It takes the river there to make them scary
Distressing, weird, pathetic, broken, sere.
I cannot wish the river gone, and yet
Without it, these are things I could forget.
No comments:
Post a Comment