River Thinking

They're digging up the river bank;
a big orange CAT
purrs, stretches a mechanical paw
clawing at the earth, they say

it's to stop the floods
but the willows look depressed,
hiding their branches behind
a hang of leaves,
someone should tell them
they're beautiful, like the old

iron gate, that's shed its green paint
and moans a rusty kiss as I pass
instead of using the path
that bends, a new insult around it.

I prefer the mud tracks
but they've thrown down gravel;
uncomfortable stones
poking through the soles
of my shoes - I want to be
like the river, lipping over

obstacles. Instead I'll use a toe
to kick the bigger rocks away
and walk where they've left
the grasses to grow long
and adopt poppies, buttercups, Queen Anne's lace.