A Loaded PropositionIan HarveyBetween Immokalee and Naples,Forty miles of two-lane Lies among the agribusiness fields, Cypress swamp, and patches of pine and palmetto flatwoods, And as the fields expand and swamp is drained, The wildlife's forced toward the road Where drivers wonder momentarily If those objects on their sides Beside the road are truck recaps or gators Crushed as they tried to cross the road In search of poisoned, disappearing water, Crushed by trucks conveying tons Of watermelons, oranges, tomatoes-- The ditches where the water meets the road Are now where birds converge to hunt, And if you're new to Florida, Or ignorant of how your fruits And vegetables are grown, The scenes you glimpse from cars out there Seem calm, pristine, idyllic, Otters playing like water-loving kittens, Belted kingfishers perching on the wires At half-mile intervals to watch the ditch, Their head feathers sharp against the sky, While swallow-tailed kites waft by Alert for snakes to catch before the egrets, Great blue herons, or red-shouldered hawks-- The cypress swamp is destined To become more fields, The drier flatwoods for the malls And theme parks of the future-- "Developers" are planning, planning Like their robber baron predecessors Planned groves and cattle ranches While the Seminole still softly trod the land-- If ignorance is bliss, class consciousness Is agony of understanding-- When you know the swamp is drained, the woods cleared, And the poisons sprayed for profit only, Not because the working class is so prolific That it needs more and more produce and pavement, Or because there's only one way to grow tomatoes, Or because the pitiful jobs are needed-- When you've seen a ten-foot gator, Atavistic, powerful in life, Swelling in the sun because the poisoned produce Must get through, When you've dragged once-handsome otters Off the road before more trucks can hit them, Watching wildlife by the roadway Is a loaded proposition-- My drives to work have been worthwhile Because they take me through the otters' home, But I would gladly never see them play again In trade for no more profits on their lives. -- 1993.Writer's bio: "I'm 45, adore my plucky, dark-haired comrade for life, love my daughters and the people because 'we go on,' as Ma Joad says, especially rock-throwing Palestinian teenagers and my high school students because they're still afraid to throw rocks in the right direction, Leonard, Mumia, Noam, air, water, wildlife, work and unionism, anarchistic socialism yet to come."Two Eyes Magazine: Home | Issue 2 contents |