The Blue Woman consoles
the bleeding rocks,
tends the lacerated flanks
of the hill upon which
an industry removes stone.

The hill does not shed tears,
or close its heart to ants,
to burrowing animals,
to the deep roots of trees.

The Blue Woman views
the monster trucks and the hole
they put themselves in,
measures the heavy metals
now leaching into the ground water.

The water does not rust,
or drop this burden quickly.
There is nowhere for the slow creek
to wash the dust from its face.

copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney