Pour

Solvents and paint,
poured down the drain.
There were complaints,
only forty years late.

Peculiar taste
of acetates,
migraine headaches,
growing cellular rates.

What we pour in the soil,
whether poison or oil
will eventually spoil.

The solvents spilled
down Cedar Hill,
feeding a well
and a weeping willow.

That man next door
lived here before.
But he knew the score
when his tree hit the floor.

What we put in the ground,
whether planted or plowed,
will eventually be found,
it will come back around.

What we pour in the soil,
whether poison or oil,
will eventually spoil.