Friday, April 13, 2012

One Week Past a Full Moon

One Week Past a Full Moon

I pull off the road, puzzle Kate and the dog,
to snap a photo as ordinary as salt in the blood.
A distant ridge of volcanic rock.  Closer:
clumps of native grass and some sagebrush.
As ordinary as hand-weighing halved melons
while watching a butcher cut a roast down
to size for a couple with grown, gone children.
The standard American life: subject to purchase.

Wedges of cheese cake under plastic,
the obliteration of past-as-present,
a man short of seventy years stepping
onto a hilly field as if ambitious to scale
clouds yet to arrive in 1903 Nebraska....
Or... I keep driving on a narrow road
sudden with newly situated used single-wide
trailers for those in the general-good-times business:
bicycle repair, picture hook sales, cultural
connotations regarding breast augmentation.

My tread or another's tread... soon erased.
As if calculated from a ghost-passengers train.

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