Picking Up Litter Along the Ohio River
It wasn’t the tiny empty whiskey
bottles lying in the grass
nor the bottle caps from cheap beer.
It wasn’t the soaked shirt fished
from the water leaving me wondering
how it left a man’s back.
It wasn’t the plastic in all its forms
nor the auto show above the bank,
Z, Vette, and Shelby hoods erect
as owners worshiped at those alters.
It was the cigarette butts – filtered,
unfiltered – swarming the ground,
covering the carcass of a dying planet.
9 thoughts on "Picking Up Litter Along the Ohio River"
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.
love:
the march of “it wasn’t” to the “It was”
the sounds and rhythm in “bottle caps from cheap beer.”
And that soaked shirt wondering.
Your anaphora works so well. Then the conclusion —
It was the cigarette butts – filtered,
unfiltered – swarming the ground,
covering the carcass of a dying planet.
This reminds me of the sidewalk near Limestone in front of Chandler Hospital. The campus is “tobacco free,” so the smokers step past the “No Smoking” sign to puff away. Then they lazily toss their butts to the concret and step on them. Why can’t they bend to pick them up?
Your title brought up a memory of reading Harlan Hubbards book: Shanty Boat, his time on the Ohio River.
Thank you for sharing this lovely poem.
Oh goodness. This is striking writing! You boil it all down and when the end comes those cigarette butts hit the final death knell. Expert level work.
Great one, Lee. As a former smoker and someone who left their share of butts littering the land, I’m feeling more than a little guilty. As I should.
I agree with Bill–now I am thinking about all the butts I left behind in my wake.
This poem is more powerful than a well-researched report from the EPA or a documentary on PBS warning us of the choking debris found in our waterways! The details, images so striking that lead to conclusion we cannot deny. I hear the death knell that Linda pointed out too. I especially like lines about finding a man’s shirt.
I love the way you’ve crafted this. The repetition of “it wasn’t” leads me to really wonder what “it was,” and that’s satisfying to come to at the end. Also the car owners worshiping at the erect hood alters and wondering how the shirt left a man’s back…such effective and interesting phrasing! Great poem. Makes me sad, too, of course.
Beautiful and brutal, Lee.
Clever piling of straws on the proverbial camel’s back