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
Fish Jumping Out of Water -- Fred Tomaselli