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Our Creek
1992
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We used to play in the creek
When I was a kid.
We caught tadpoles and crawdads.
The mud squished between our toes
And we'd sit right down in the muddy water.
We had boat races
And run along at our sticks
Hit grasses and rocks along the edge.
After a good rain
The boats would run along forever.
As I grew
The creek collected trash and glass.
It didn't smell so much like mud
As it did oil and salts.
The rocks became strewn
So that it made our feet stumble and hurt.
We learned to stay out of it.
Eventually the creek was piped
And it was sad to see
Our playground go
But it had already died
Been trashed and dirtied
And that was only the progress
Of the way things go.
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