Grasshopper Gloss: In Which An Analogy Is Drawn

O grasshoppers, you scoff to see me wave,

That gesture ceding you the right to cross

The concrete -- as though simply that could save

You from becoming just a smear, a gloss

Upon the Greenway's surface. No, you wait

Or fly away in haste. There's wisdom there.

Likewise, e'en though I know that many hate

My firm refusal of concern and care

Some motorists extend on city streets

That I traverse, that cut across my path.

I trust you not, as memory still bleats

Distress at one who waved, then hit me. Hath

We come to this, assuming evil of

Those who might truly mean us naught but love?

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In Which The Grasshoppers Lie Heavy

There still is something missing as the spring
Morphs into summer. While the days are long
And lovely, and the noisy blackbirds sing,
As do the larks and mourning doves, it's wrong
To call me pleased, who pedals past and through
The grasslands and the marshes, breathing in
The scents of plants and flowers on Deep Blue.
The Greenway still is lonely with no din
Of insects. Barely hatched and tiny, they
Still hide within the earth, can barely crawl
Forth from their refuge; they'd be easy prey
In early instar stages, for 'most all
Those chirping birds. Come out soon, friends, and play,
And jump to herald me along my way.


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