Everyday Acid Rain

A poem written during my days living on the coast of England in North Devon. 


Little green trumpets multiply,

stitching up the cracks

of this Edwardian wall.


Its lopsided pasty stones

huddle together like penguins

as winter begins to whisper its name.


Their compression divides air from air,

where sprinting sea currents laugh

at us and our silly efficiency.


We hurry going nowhere while

they perform a silent opera, mocking

the word we worship – ‘busyness’.


Colors change like a thick layer

of freckles on the lawn while we walk by

chatting about something like nuclear weapons.


We want to be heard, us and

our extreme words, and out there

the sea shifts mood, unraveling like masking tape.


But don’t call us extremists – we’re just

patriots living on English bluffs, these

dinosaur paws pressing into the sea.


We might not notice the clouds tuck

into each other, pink coats highlighting

in a display, an affair, all for us.


But the climax is over – now

they scrunch up with tears,

dripping a warning on us that we ignore.

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