What Is The Odour I Possess? Poem by M. A Heathcote

The pollutants of a river are offensive to my nose.
And yet I swim in its effluent sanguine currents.
Centuries pass, and the smell.
It is just as odious to my adult senses.
And now, as an adult, it has infected me.
Both my heart and soul.
And I ask, are we so corrupted?
We cannot purify a river?
As I watch canal fish in a lingering death dance
Wearing jackets of fungus mould choking in their gills,
I question:
What I have paid to swim amongst such ghastly waters.
What is the odour I secrete and possess?
That has coated me as I, too, approach my death?
I wish I were a lonely old oyster.
Purifying all the water gathered around me.
And together we amalgamated just one pearl.
And call this our one unadulterated world.