Little Bear Creek
by Neal Ostman


I’m OK in my busy world.
Unstoppable grind flowing like a bad movie.
How about something quick to eat?
Coffee’s black mirror trembles
in the rumbles of the world.
Chomp on steamed dogs,
roar on, hate on, drive on--
I dig it, I roll in it,
like the neighbor’s mutt!

Trouble free skies,
but hazy,
stand over Little Bear Creek.
A nothing ripple remnant, a muddy wet,
its flanks sheltered with twisted oaks.
Kids roller over the bridge
flicking off spent cans ‘n plastics,
miss the water, pimple its banks.

We try so damn hard to be OK.
Rush impulsive into each hour,
and fire back at any muzzle flashes.
This is the accounting of our days.
Little Bear Creek?
It ain’t worth spit.






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