Runoff by Richard Weaver

We ran behind the mosquito trucks
because the spray cooled our summer
bodies. For us it was a game, a relief
from the monotony of summer’s dry river.
An edge of our earth we could understand.
The oily air no different than the shiny runoff
we watched coursing down the gutter
on those rare days when it dared rain.
Both were opportunities to play. We knew
less than our parents who knew nothing about
chemical consequences. A marriage made in
fill-in-your-blank. My lungs exchanged for yours?
My kidneys something my siblings could accept?
We are the collateral damage of the ongoing
experimental generations. The sad participants
who had no idea. No clue. And can only wait.



Richard Weaver was an Assistant Professor at the 3rd oldest Jesuit College where he taught in the English Department and was the Head of Library Circulation, and acting Archivist. His first published poem appeared in Poetry Magazine in April of 1975. His 600th poem was recently published in Red Eft Review. Other publications and his mugshot as a Rat Poet available upon request. (Mug not available.)