Ruins
Don’t let the tourguide fool you,
the great Cathedrals of America
are piles of rusting junk
scattered over the countryside.
decades of still-life
pick-up trucks,
shattered windows spilled
across
the seat like crushed ice,
flies buzzing
in the afternoon sun,
scraped clean cans
heaped together,
pitted and brown,
uncurated museums
in an empty pasture,
beyond the barbed wire,
where the poplar woods
reach down.
| |
|