Memories of a Church Creek

Once be-turtled and spangled in the shade of the oak

Now denuded and mangled and barren and broke.

Because the chainsaw has played its buzzen song

Through the heart of the wood we had known for so long.

And the bulldozer muscled out the roots

From the places my son had explored in his boots.

Now, wherever the concrete won’t be,

We’ll put in some jasmine and maybe a tree.

But the fish won’t return the turtles won’t be back.

When some bones are broken it leaves a permanent crack.

Conduit, drainage, and flood management too

Somehow a creek by any other name just won’t do.

In the morning, he’ll be here in his Sunday best

And he’ll want to know what to make of this mess.

Such, I will say, is the progress of man

You takes what you needs and you saves what you can.