This is for the forgotten rocks that used to adorn this place
And for the buried moss that used to soften their sharp edges
This is for the rolling meadows that undulated from shore to peak
Carpeted with purple camas blossoms that weren’t merely decorative
But part of the food chain
This is for all those variations
Blown up and smoothed away
Made level so that we could roll out more ubiquitous lawn
Colonizing originality with green banality
We have made preemptive strikes against authenticity
Tagging the earth with neon green invaders
Which we mow and trim and water and feed
So much trouble for nothing much
For a crop we don’t eat or use except to display dominator status
Reaching for a reflection of noblesse oblige
Borrowing the suggestion of nobility from squandering fecund fields
For rolled sameness, green lameness
In the pool table flatness that surrounds us
We no longer see nature because we’ve suppressed it
We draw comfort in our control
Seeking the eradication of variety and surprise
For mono-cultured submission
Into the green blanket of conformity
David Trudel © 2013
You turn the most basic things into such beautiful things.
Sometimes ordinary things need a voice. Thanks!