The fifteenth of 155 poems about the Beltline by Lee Butler. 

"Bob" the sign said
Nearby the bicycles sleep and the rooster crows
A mountain biker and hiker,
my Father would have microscoped the urban path.

The errant wildflowers unwilling to be fenced, pouring under
Varieties which thirst for water forced out by the hearty
One ruff of lace in a field of black eyes
All of Susans, ladies-in-waiting for Queen Anne.
He would have read Latin stones, noting the indigenous.

"Rules are for when brains run out"
but being a civil civilized man
he'd have adhered to the right hand rules
The admonitions of my Sierra childhood traipses
"Take everything out that you bring in",
charge me to pick up the careless cans.
I resist thanking the two men ahead
eating their way up the Line
who return litter to the plastic take out they have carried in.

Birds dancing dominance
Swiping intruders with feathered swords
Piping tweets and whistling warnings
Perhaps he would have stopped the over-wired
"See something besides texts and hear nature's talk."