On Inwood Hill

Smashing bottles inside the last natural forest
in Manhattan is a neighborhood sport.
Drink it up buddy! Smash it down.
And later, at the bottom of the hill, dump more
of your unwanted stuff, an old tire, a lawn chair, a few Barbies,
into the only salt marsh on this island.

The mighty Hudson flows by Inwood Hill
full of PCBs from power plants upstream.
Wavelets carry Canada Geese cruising for food.
Overhead, a migratory path for millions.
Across the river, another forest and cliffs,
a green façade masking New Jersey.

The scenery would dazzle a fool
but for bottle smashing chemical dumping guys,
with destructiveness surging up from the bases
of their brains, no way! These two hundred acres
at the northern tip of skinny Manhattan,
this river, and the Palisades, are trash.