William Doreski

Patricia Frisella, "Balloon Flowers"
Patricia Frisella, “Balloon Flowers”

One by William Doreski

Beebe Trail

Beside the Beebe Trail gentian

flaunts my favorite blue.  The slope

and wooded boundaries conceal

the lurking view of South Pack,

a bulk too massive to bulldoze

for the benefit of developers

who’ve sworn to re-engineer the town

to suit the right sort of people.

Gentians disregard such people,

who cruise around showing off

antique convertibles reserved

for three-day holiday weekends.

Like the bluff man who crowded me

in the café this morning. He shoved

through the crowd with his bulk

displayed in a tight red shirt

exposing biceps floppy as breasts.

Flowers don’t acknowledge men

like that, huffing aggressive men

whose massive necks have toughened

like those leathery fungi      

that adhere to trees. But then

they don’t notice me, either.

The trail winds into the forest,

glooming over and shutting out

the sun-loving gentian.

I carom down the crooked trail

and emerge at the parking lot.                          

Here a grinning family packs

a picnic basket and ignores

my hearty routine greeting,

my sweaty old skin. They don’t know

that gentian has blessed the landscape

with a shade of blue so powerful

not even factories in China

can reproduce it for the rich—

not even to bless their children

who need color to convince them

that something in nature cares.

William Doreski’s work has appeared in various e and print journals and in several collections, most recently The Suburbs of Atlantis (AA Press, 2013).

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