Its Ugly Hand

2010 Poetry

A dirty old bottle sits on the ground,

as an old park bench dilapidates.

Its metal turning to a deep orange

as oxidation takes its course.

Flora overgrowing all that it surrounds,

blocking the old path that once prevailed.

It was once a place of beauty and charm,

when one’s taxes used to foot the bill.

That was before greed and corruption

stuck out its ugly hand to line Its pockets.

I fear those days when the elected cared

has gone the way of the Dodo’s flight.

Landing us all face down in the dirt

while they skip along with a healthy smile.

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