Thursday, 25 of August of 2016

B.J. Elzinga – Remembering the Dead


 
 
Sinuously curving road
early morning quiet
disturbed by logging trucks,
fat, belching accomplices
in a mass murder.
Looking north, I wince;
clearcuts deface the land
as acne on skin.

Smell of fresh asphalt
penetrates my nostrils.
Trucks roar by
leaving an ache in my heart.
Tall, naked trees
callously chopped
bound tightly
on a flat bed.

In the forest
smell of fresh cuts
overpowers the stench of humanity.
Rings attest
a longevity
beyond human endurance.
How long have these gentle giants
stood strong and proud?
What have they seen?

As another truck screeches by
eyes focus on flat bed.
Tears, like sawdust, fly.
I hate piles of trees
riding horizontally
but what hurts most
are grand old ones
filling the truck
alone.

B.J. Elzinga
September 23 1987 Earth First!


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