(Inspired by and dedicated to J. Armstead)
seen from the Coastal Highway:
dense clusters of water birds - so diaphanous
you may easily take them for clouds -
circling the sky, then, unexpectedly
throwing themselves to the ground
no longer a diaphanous cluster but rather
a discontinuous, disorderly bunch
competing for the bounty of the garbage dump
what have we done to the noble birds,
you think despondently,
and, indeed, what are they doing here
since across the road there's the sea
and at the fish farm nearby
in the neat, geometrical ponds
they could more fittingly gorge themselves
with live, healthy prey?
blessedly unaware of their nobility
the birds systematically scavenge
enforcing pecking order with shrieks;
forgotten they may have what is good for them
but have perfected instead an efficient method
of rupturing the bags with their beaks;
they seem to have copied our taste for junk
as well as our horror of effort.
you pray: may they be clever enough
to know, and to teach their young
how not to swallow nylon bags
how to tell quick-acting poison
from more innocuous trash
how to thrive on our mess
remain strong and be here
when we are no more
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