We’ve been studying drainage and soils and
how to stop nature from destroying the school,
with class-crowds of kids.
running into the hills, along vague trails
A door into the ground,
Networks of drains running along edges and folds,
An ivy-choked creek behind high fencing
A fat snake sliding out of sight
holing up under some stairs.
Winter rains flowed under the blacktop
seeping through cracks,
floating mosaics of asphalt away,
causing heaving of the soil
that concrete foundations ride
on seasonal waves.
Moss fills small fissures first
followed by entitled tall grasses,
baby bushes and tiny oaks whose trunks
will expand cracks into crevasses.
Chernobyl’s nuclear city thirty years after has
trees growing through classroom windows and floors,
stuffed animals and blankets left on rusty-sprung beds
in the hurry to get to the busses.
Fairground rides and dodgems grown over with vines,
the gradual decay softening right-angle edges.
Nature will always survive in one guise or another
with us riding along
or maybe bucked off
unless we expand the cracks with credible hope.