a poem sailed unto the air and landed atop
the pond **** of van saun lake
Written in pencil it stayed afloat
until all the words could absorb the moisture
They needed to cleanse themselves
from the steady stream caravan of pollution makers
that run through the park all summer long

Thirty-eight years ago we were
pumping lead into the air
We should not delay drastic measures
as I sit underneath the giantelm and continue to write
I see a thin girl with dark hair on the other side
and a goose is tearing to shreds my discarded art
                                                 then eats it
Then, what becomes of art but, goose ****