Just Our Nature
By Jack Joseph Smith
Skies back like Nothern California,
or rather like Mohawk
Suddenly each season turns,
with short and long shade,
a feeling sensory to thought
The unclocked orange above us is gone
The waiting for years for one star is over
Secrets and seconds mean something through the trees,
our view of wild animals, folage and gardens,
of our own, to watch the dance of muskrat and deer,
between city and suburb cocky with their pitence
Western Pennsylvania keeping coal on the river is yes
But there is no sight of plastic and tin cans,
going down with the golden leaves this fall
We are the ones who know there is unlikelyness,
in a cure from the million crosses we have put up,
still we accept that type of critism as a way of life
Make it a shock for a world, a country in horror;
it is politics, that has finely let us see the stars,
announced our lonely and courting dreams, over the
legacy of our city
Shut down towns, visual as if whiped by war; big steel
ripping livelyhood away with an arm meaner than adjunk
The peacemaker testing three rivers and a thousand more,
with University tubes carefully through each inch,
of the water, to stop chemical, computer or otherwise,
from coming next