Ophelia Street

Through too fast spring, past too green fields, clumps of bluets and a ravage of violets just before Ophelia street screams: "Stop!" so I do, driving once around the block and veering over the slag, just under the railroad track. Over the trestle, then two, and you scare the muddling, scuddling teens in amongst the mayapples, white violets, spring beauties-- and they are: count them every one ... young and on the river bank... with garbage scattered all around. Iron spikes in the sun, the stink of creasote, and the hand of a possum reaches out and touches me. The body lies apart, it could be mistaken for a woman's fancy hat...Dirt and garbage shall follow me all of my days...three trains go by and they're tearing apart the covered bridge. Corrugated metal swings on a high tree limb but the town is full of kids and grown-ups on bikes, and fisherpeople cluster at the falls. A pond with swimming irish setters and a bronze girl reads her book in the sun, with tulips. A cop arrests a young man and the church bells ring. Doug sez the tornado took all the trees.