I used to watch the mighty Ohio
as a young boy.
At the convergence of the two rivers
that make her
often one would be brown and dirty
the other green and crystal.
It took a while for the one to cleanse
the other.

At times in my little town,
as we sat fishing off the dock,
the sewers would open for over flow.
Toxic waste, sewage spewing
discoloring the view
clear to the mighty middle.

They tell me the river is clean now.
Even sport fishing allowed.
But then there still are times
when we hear of a flood
of lethal waste.
An accidental spill perhaps
or then again,
careless disregard for
others.

I was thinking of this
while witnessing these
perilous times.
And make no mistake
they are!

I was thinking of the words
of that sheep herder prophet;
“you cows … who oppress the poor
and crush the needy.
Time will come when you will be
taken even with fish hooks.
Though you bring me offerings
I have no regard for them
I will not listen to your music.
Instead, let justice roll like a river” (1)

So I have to ask;
where now is that prophetic voice
in our land?

These days I often walk among
grave stones
now far from the river’s edge.

They are quiet yet full of story.
Like one I saw on the after cusp of
a Virginia sewage overflow.
Evil at the foot of the home
of a declarer
of all persons equality.

A grave stone, a man’s height;
father and mother
then on three sides,
son 21 wounded at Gettysburg
died the next day
son 19 succumbed to the
squealer of Andersonville Prison.
A monument too of human brutality.
And then a third
sacrificed somewhere unknown
on the altar of the war gods
just 20 years young!

A triune offering to build
a more perfect union.

Sewers of hate
spewing their overflow again.
Converging like an open cesspit
polluting venomous waste
even to the mighty
middle of the river
of life.

Where is the cleansing justice of
progressive witness?
Silenced into spiritual song
and sweet platitudes of Jesus?
Have we so abandoned
our moral compass?
Or have our centers of
prophetic faith
abandoned us?

Some still stand the line of courage
remembering Martin
and so many others.
But the question has to be asked
not for me
but for our children’s
children.

Have we forgotten our history
or has our unwillingness
to educate all
caused the abandonment
of perspective and
history’s countenance
of truth?

Convergence, confluence
the coming together.
Will this great river of democracy
now be forever polluted?

Or