Arlene Corwin writes

A Dire Confession

I’ve done my share

Of poisoning the air.

At eighty-four I want no more.

Shamefaced, conscience-stricken and guilt ridden,

I stand washing dishes, wishing what I can’t undo, 

Intent on saying an adieu to:

Coffee grinds flushed down the sink,

Waxy cartons burned with doublethink:

Heat’s convenience, money’s worth;

Plastic, shop-to-home, then thrown out

Killing bee, plant, herring, trout.

From now it’s paper, cloth or fabric.

No more fabrication or excuse,

Sloughing off of duty’s onus. 

Taking on responsibilities

To kith and kin, peoples of societies 

Sink to hearth to planet earth.

A dire confession to the death:

No contaminants from apathy.

No disregard of cruelty

To animals that feed you/me,

Insecticides that have no meaning

Killing off with cancer-ed skill

People, plant and all things breathing.

From the mire of confession dire.

One day we’ll discuss gunfire. 

For today, and my assignment:

Is the ever changing climate's pattern

And disfigurement.

Fish Jumping Out of Water -- Fred Tomaselli