The Window Of Time Poem by Richard Provencher

Many years ago being brave
meant arms outstretched, kids flailing
for balance as acrobats on
the huge pipeline bringing tailings
from the Noranda Copper Mine

impurities steered away from
civilized society and hauled
far into the woods behind
our town, hidden by clumps of hills

that tinge of unsightly brown
crust where one misstep meant
plunging into mysterious gluck

where a young body may dissolve
from chemicals and ascend to
heaven sooner than parents
believed to be humanly possible.