Not A Nature Poem

(Image by Ruslan Rozanov via Pexels)

Stop asking me about the pristine streams and pine needles.

Hoping to see wilderness perform for your peace of mind.

Reality is filled with streetcar tracks and tangible measures.

Beside me, sits my Indigenous friend, on a cold bench, 

tired of being asked to speak for the trees and the plants.

We both are in scuffed sneakers, not barefoot on the damp earth.

Reading Tommy Pico in the shadow of the branches.

An entire ecosystem was created, just for us to unbuild it.

This is steel, asphalt, and turmeric.

We are in the noise, right here.