Poetry on Tuesday – M. Wizard

The Last Spring

This is the last spring for these few remaining vacant lots

down south of the river.

The signs are already posted:


The college even wants to turn the old golf course,

home to deer and coyote still,

into more cookie-cutter condos.

Five years ago, the creek was home to herons and big turtles.

Fifty years ago, this was all farmland and open woods.

Next year, it will be clear-cut, under construction, civilized, gone.

The small rains we had last week

have decked the woods in color.

A big mesquite, on the only corner without a gas station,

is covered in yellow flowers.

Does it know that this is the last spring?

Is its bright display a desperate bid for attention,

a vegetative cry for help?

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