The hillside was covered
with polymer marble relics
strewn over the crisp spring grass,
manufactured in our modern age
and abandoned to look the dubious part
of broken and crumbling classicism
that is supposed to lend us some prestige.

It did give that bit of hillside
a play of lights and shadows
that followed the arcing sun
across the carpeted lawn and clover.

I looked on from my shaded alcove
among the roots of the willow tree,
noting the irony in an entire race
lying on its resume.

01/27/2005

Author's Note: Topic from Joe Chiles. Inspired by an actual experience. Feedback, please!!

Posted on 01/27/2005
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