17 – At the Crossing

Of the 30 homes
about to be built upon
the decimated soil,
not one will know
the cool shade of
the 100-year oak,
the soft whisper
of ancient pine,
the after-hour call
of the hoot on high.
The clear-cut yards
of painted grass
and rolling asphalt,
their fabrications
of flora and fauna,
offer picture-perfect
of humans at the crossing,
of choices made
soon before the fall.

Poem ©2018, Jen Payne. National Poetry Month 2018, #17. If you like the heart of this poem, discover 80 more in the book EVIDENCE OF FLOSSING: WHAT WE LEAVE BEHIND! Purchased your signed copy today! CLICK HERE

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