We wade within Buffalo Creek - <br />water's warm in late August, <br />under the High Street Bridge. <br />History is there, built in 1926 - <br />the bottles there are older, we know. <br />Torrential rains pour every year - <br />then and, later, we hope now. <br />As the water crests, hearts pound - <br />the bottles will dance down stream. <br />Coca-Cola, RC, Hires, - <br />six-ounce,10-ounce, thick glass <br />containers lodge themselves in mud. <br />We seek, and we peer. We tramp <br />and we bend. We focus and find, <br />pieces of the past, tossed out of <br />cars, off of trestles, into the Buffalo. <br />I hold one today, wondering where it <br />once was – Metz, Hundred, Littleton? <br />We tote our treasures, lug them over <br />the creekside – count our new stash - <br />my boy and me, friends of the Buffalo.<br /><br />Marc G. Auber<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/buffalo-creek-west-virginia/
