The fifteenth of 155 poems about the Beltline by Lee Butler.
"Bob" the sign said Nearby the bicycles sleep and the rooster crows A mountain biker and hiker, my Father would have microscoped the urban path. The errant wildflowers unwilling to be fenced, pouring under Varieties which thirst for water forced out by the hearty One ruff of lace in a field of black eyes All of Susans, ladies-in-waiting for Queen Anne. He would have read Latin stones, noting the indigenous. "Rules are for when brains run out" but being a civil civilized man he'd have adhered to the right hand rules The admonitions of my Sierra childhood traipses "Take everything out that you bring in", charge me to pick up the careless cans. I resist thanking the two men ahead eating their way up the Line who return litter to the plastic take out they have carried in. Birds dancing dominance Swiping intruders with feathered swords Piping tweets and whistling warnings Perhaps he would have stopped the over-wired "See something besides texts and hear nature's talk."