Amitabha Mukerjee
I wandered lonely as a cloud -
Except for a motorboat,
Nary a soul in sight.
Beside the lake beneath the trees,
Next to the barbed wire fence,
There was a picnic table
And beer bottle caps from many years.
A boat ramp to the left,
And the chimney from a power station on the other side,
A summer haze hung in the air,
And the lazy drone of traffic far away.
Crimson autumn of mists and mellow fruitfulness -
Blue plastic covers the swimming pools.
The leaves fall so I can see
Dark glass reflections in the building
That came up
Where the pine cones crunched underfoot
And the parking lot
With narrow green apologies of grass.
And then it is snow
White lining on trees and rooftops.
But I have miles to go before I sleep,
And through my windshield wipers
The snow is piled dark and grey
Melting in streaks across the pavement
At the bus stop dull parka's gather.
Next to my driveway where I check my mail
Little footprints on fresh snow -
A visiting rabbit.
I knew a bank where the wild thyme blew,
Over-canopied with luscious woodbine:
It is now a landfill -
Fermentation of civilization.
Flowers on TV
Hyacinth rose tulip chrysanthemum
Acres of colour
Wind up wrapped in decorous plastic,
In this landfill where oxlips grew.
But even in this gray putridescence
A touch of yellow,
Where a dandelion flutters welcome
Half-hidden to the eye.