PILINGS

Out in the river you see
remnants of long-ago piers.
Only pilings remain.
A blend of observation,
irony and fact. It’s a good
day to fly a kite.
So few overhead wires
north of Harborside.
At sea, the pilings poke
up through the high tide.
What would they rather
have been? A tree
with a bird’s nest?

Making shade in some
forest glade? Cleaning air
with green leaves or pine
needles? Instead, here,
doomed to provide
respite to restive seagulls,
breaking waves, home to
green slime moss,
hazards to speedy cruise boats,
lined up idle sentries, gasping
for breath in a wash of waves.
Or nothing but a stick in the mud,
among neat rows of sticks in the river.

- By Anthony Buccino
From ONE MORNING IN JERSEY CITY
Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved. Photos and content may not be used for commercial purposes without written permission.
*****************