Inheritance

Grandpa Charlie, my mother would tell me, used the earth
as his trash can. I can see them now on those long
trips to Michigan in the power-blue '69 chevelle,

rushing past the saturated plains of golden
leaves and sky-blue lakes to a dingy
vacation trailer and a swarm of

relations. Smoke rose like incense
in that car, creating a carcinogenic fog
to accompany their entrance. I can still

see Grandma Helen sitting on the porch,
surrounded by a cloud of white exhaust.
We breathed in the same smoky haze,

the distinct perfume clinging to our
clothes with each expiration. She had the same
attitude about our world as she did back then.

But its now my world.
How could our generation not see
the signs of a burdened inheritance,

the reckless spending and waste
of the years gone by, a consumer
culture raised in terms of economics

and exchanges, not in responsibility?
How can we abandon this place, our
birthright, to become a wasteland? -to turn

our eyes from the only home we have
been given? When land is laid on the operation
table while men tear open the veins of the earth for his own

benefits, we have lost all right to an
inheritance. We have sold it to our younger
brother, for the meager price of a quick

satisfying pleasure.