Cinnamon Tea

by E-O. ‘Finn’ Siggs, Australia

Today as I walked,
the smell of rain
was not damp earth, ochre,
but poison: a soft rising
of rot and pesticide.
And of course, I wanted to be inside
with a cup of tea, warm
to forget.
And then I remembered a walking man said:
Don’t take your dog by the lake in the spring
the weeds are sprayed, and when your dog gets home
he will lick his little paws and poison himself.
And then I remembered the summer storms:
in Kalgoorlie, after the rain I went
outside to the curb, watched water rushing and
made little dams of sticks; watched silver-brown-grimy
slick shiny build-up on the sticks and think,
At least this much pollution will not make it down to the dam.
There are two parts to life: dreams
and responsibility.
A note to the past: do not ruin the rain
A note to the future: please save it
I sit and drink my cinnamon tea.
A note to the present:
Do something. This is the way we bring solutions
into reality.