Poisoned
Soil
by
Joseph S. Pete
In
a black-and-white picture,
Shadow-effect
letters pop off the pristine fence line,
Proudly
declaring the plant “The Home of Anaconda White Lead”
As
though lead were as wholesome as oatmeal,
As
All-American as dogs and suds at a vintage drive-in.
For
decades, the factory smelted lead,
Corroding
lead, antimonial lead,
Lead
for paint, insecticides, who knows what else.
Bug-killing
chemicals seeped into that patch of soil in East Chicago,
City
of heavy industry and hopeful immigrants,
Lakefront
city of coiled steel and ship canals.
After
the factory inevitably shuttered,
Having
run its course,
Someone
somewhere at some point
Decided
to plop public housing on that salted swath of lead and arsenic.
Somebody
decided it was okay
For
kids to play in neurotoxin-ridden dirt.
Then
one day,
Officials
in button-down shirts and soft leather shoes
Called
a public meeting
In
a school auditorium where a few of the seats were busted-up,
And
had been for years.
They
spoke of contamination, exposure, testing.
They
warned of brain disorders and nervous system damage.
They
used words like “toxicity” and “risk,”
Phrases
like “cognitive deficit.”
Residents
learned there was a malicious invader
In
the soil, in their children’s blood.
They
learned it had been there,
Been
lurking
All
along.
From
the poet: "Joseph S. Pete is an Iraq War veteran, an
award-winning journalist, an Indiana University graduate, a book
reviewer, and a frequent guest on Lakeshore Public Radio in
Merrillville. He was named the poet laureate of Chicago BaconFest
2016, a feat that Geoffrey Chaucer chump never accomplished. His work
has appeared in The Five-Two, Chicago Literati, Dogzplot, shufPoetry,
The Roaring Muse, Blue Collar Review, Lumpen, McSweeney's Internet
Tendency, Pulp Modern, Zero Dark Thirty and elsewhere. He once
Googled the Iowa Writers' Workshop. True story, believe it or not."