How It Was (Poetry)

We have our memories, of course,
and sketches of the way it was
before the planners had their way
and blasted it to kingdom come

and it didn’t seem to matter much
about the bats or orchids found —
protected species come and go
the way of traffic casualties.

What’s in a name? — Reserve or Park
means nothing to committee types
who spend their days approving schemes
to tarmac yet another slice.

They waged their war on trees and stone,
a savage strike that crushed a land
unarmed for combat with closed minds
of men who feel no shame.

We heard each charge explode and rip
the underbelly of the rock
and leave the shaken air a-whir
with frantic, beating wings.

Now there lies beauty, shot to hell,
scarred by ignorance and greed
despite the protests, but we saved
some photographs for you to see...