“human intelligence is a kind of lethal mutation” — Ernst Mayr
The earth winced and wondered
when the first blade
broke through the forest.
She mourned the first pine
plucked to bridge a river.
What was this species,
this aberration, that was never satisfied?
By the time the first mountain was mined
she was beginning to get the picture.
She was shaken by bombs,
burned by defoliating chemicals.
Eventually, cul-de-sacs of concrete
covered the valley of the sun
and even the cacti were choked and exhausted.
But through the concrete and exhaust,
through the bombs and the intensifying heat,
she always knew it was just a matter of time.
She would survive.
All she had to do was wait
for his time to run out.
And he was in such a hurry
for his time to run out.
—
Ed Werstein was 60 years old before his muse awoke and dragged himself out of bed. Since then his poetry has appeared in Blue Collar Review, Stoneboat, Gyroscope Review, Rosebud and many other journals. He has also published four books of poetry. He worked for many years in manufacturing and was very active in his labor union. He has been a lifelong advocate for peace. His website is edwerstein.com.
