Tuesday, Abridged (in Stratford, Connecticut)
b.r.crandall
There are no
mountains in
Stratford, but
Mohicans
found higher grounds
north, in the ol’ Bay State,
above from where I
drive/walk/run/ride,
avoiding Walmart traffic
& the chaos from
that depot of homes & construction.
At times, I ride along this river
wishing to launch a green kayak
upon its stiller waters …
(with more egrets & less regrets).
Beth & Dan live across
from
a wildlife preserved
in the name of an oyster farmer.
It’s not a Louisiana bayou,
but their sunsets
might as well be,
and the fox follies,
the running across their yard
is like oxygen. Lungs.
Sometimes this river journeys through me,
as if I’m brackish or a watershed
(maybe even a wetland)
and I hope it understands
the McDonald’s cups & plastic bags
tossed out of human windows
is sad, even to me.
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