Complaint

The park refills with visitors.
Other species retreat again.
Most of the trailheads have opened.

The reservoir is lined with tents
And dotted with all sorts of boats.
Voices, music, and woodsmoke float.

Plumes of roars and dust drift over
The oaks around ATV trails.
Forest fires again, north and south,

But not yet here. Tomorrow is
Summer solstice, and the world
Spins on its axis, as smoothly

As ever, same as ever, just,
As always, a bit differently,
A bit more differently this year.

Protests, counter protests, unrest,
Unconquered sickness, fierce debate,
And pervasive unhappiness

Are all, literally, in the air,
Commingling with shouts and campfires.
When will poetry ever be

Completely done with litanies
And laments? The juniper gnats
Must be invading tent netting,

Because as I glide past the lake
On my way to vacant wayside,
I can hear an unseen complaint.