[Sorry about this; I have a bee in my bonnet about senseless pollution and disposable goods.]

used to like the scent
of gasoline
on a warm summer day
watch it slosh around
as the guy rhythmically
pumped it up
into the glass cylinder
I’d pull on a stalk of timothy
August grasshoppers
sawing off a long hot afternoon
of childhood

no more

human rhythm gone
machines pump fuel
invisible impersonal
digits click off the price
cost is machines
spewing toxins for
on-time delivery
of off-shore disposable
toxic oil-derived plastics
and machines
spewing toxins for
the selfish convenience of
drive-thru pickup of
fast foods
and machines
spewing toxins for
the inconceivable
indulgence of
individual commuting
through stressful
hours of grid-lock

footprints of our machines
are our footprints

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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