The Poetry of
Jack Scott

In Touch With Roots

Bare earth is scarce.
Whatever isn’t paved
is woven through with roots
as dense as asphalt
or composted with a toxic filth
repelling any nature but its own.

White elephant graveyard,
detritus of a dying city’s past
is home to rats and Yuppies
on this block anyway.

As leaves turn brown and I grow gray
within this rented space
my leaves are finally in touch with roots


349 ®Copyright 1974 Jack Scott. All rights reserved.