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A trip through Roseville led to this reflection:

Who can we blame but ourselves?

The black top parking lots

scarcely interrupted by beige stucco barns

The cattle feed

gorging themselves on waste and excess.

Fresh towels lie in the trash and

tiles protrude from the wall behind the urinal

not a minute to lend to detail

or pride in labor,

for they are needed in pursuit of a

wider, greener pasture.

Although I rarely lift my face to speak,

I ask myself

-- the higher power too ambiguous --

why?

When the grass has been pulled by its roots

and the brittle earth takes flight

on the breeze,

I hear the whisper of trees

fallen and plowed over

by SUVs

on alloy wheels

enroute

to humdrum subdivisions.

[06 SEP 07]