Social Realism (10/15/03)

Sparrows weaving this recycled plastic fiber into nests
hide the stuff inside hedges decorating the office entrance,

a kind of lint that can cup water surely as a sponge.
Clumps of carded plastic litter the lawn, fledglings

pecking crumbs and unexploded popcorn kernels at their feet.
It's the older sparrows who pluck the fibers out

and fly into the hedges, twining nests more closely knit
than those of any songbird. And when they're done

an outgoing shift will shake more from their shirts
and stamp the rest from their work-boots on the off-ramp.

Some strands float briefly, suspend lightly as pollen.
But the settled fiber that these parent sparrows stitch,

was never meant for birds-nests perched in holly-bushes,
a blend of shredded plastic grocery bag that goes pop,

that touched by fire, could stick to skin like napalm
before the looms [transform] it into (mostly automotive) carpet.

With hedge-clippers how happily the custodian shreds
the birds-nests shaped into down-scaled versions

of things in yard sales, ear-muffs, old catcher's mitts or couches.
With the nest and shells in the trash, the sparrows

scatter to a stand of scrawny poplars neighboring the warehouse exit.
A fleet of forklifts parked to bring refuse-bundles in, product out.

Utility shines each lift-fork to the polish of a battle-sword,
no thought about of anything so nebulous as aesthetics.