I am no stranger
To mountain guts, or
This ticky-tacky facade
They call "the West;"
To life that clutches
Thinly, tenuously
To the parched side
Of a meager hill.

And walking now
Among the dead,
I read no line that
Claims you as home.
Manly, hearts elsewhere,
They plundered you
And scoured, leaving
Only their bones behind.

07/14/2003

Posted on 07/15/2003
Copyright © 2025 Leonard M Hawkes