The river meets the bank –
the garbage,
the old bricks on the beach
the dead fish
Discarded signs of life
washed up
in a useless
forgotten place
Nobody knows,
Nobody cares,
Nobody goes there,
down where the
bushes are scratchy,
down among
the poison ivy
where the aluminum can
and broken Styrofoam chunks
are resting
And what about the bugs
we don’t even know exist?
What about the bacteria
that live in colonies
on our skin?
What about maggots and dung beetles?
Their whole existence is on the
edge of another life,
between the lines of someone else’s
plans
The things we were done with
the places we couldn’t use
-Jim DuBois
Oct 1, 1998
1 comment:
Love, love, love this poem. I wonder if you'd consider allowing me to include it in the upcoming issue of my zine, A Handmade Life. All contributors receive 3 copies and a small gift. Issue 4 is going to press by the end of the week, so let me know if I can squeeze you in!
Come see my Alchemy Studios blog and you'll know who the heck I am!
Or email me at robinomayberry (at) yahoo (dot) com.
Thanks Jim!
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