Lindsay Waller-Wilkinson

I pause, mid-way across the bridge,

gaze…

Jeezus!  

Deserted by amphibians and fish,

a metamorphosis transformed this space;

an airless, lightless, lifeless waste.

A tasteless shag pile thick matte

pus green slick of a duckweed carpet

lies, insidious, over it’s surface.

I could walk on this water.

Transfixed, I stand there,

stare into the void where

once a stream of life teemed,

absorb the horror, multifarious litter,

dented beercans, up-ended cartons,

garish sweetwrappers, used condoms,

brash battered boxes embossed

with McDonald’s golden arches,

slim waisted bottles corseted

in Coca-Cola’s red and white logo,

trash branded symbols stamped

with the oligarchs marques.

Yet, just as my mood darkens,

eyes rest on trailing curtains

of weeping willows, whispering.

Within arms reach, autumn treasures,

miraculous zygotes, black pearl clusters

on their third or fourth division,

glistening, mouth watering.

I pick and eat. Ripe. Sweet.

A mallard swims beneath,

webbed propellors slice through rheum,

a sheen of glossy black his wake,

a flash of crimson at his neck,

nudging pale green beak

against a fallen buddleia spear,

vibrant, regal, crowning verdant slime,

proud purple florets scream beauty

loud and clear.