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Rattle a Can and Dismember a Yew

by Curt Allday

the rattling of the cans
does nothing to silence the cries
of the yews or
plug the dams
still somehow spilling seeds
over into the unruly front lawn
as it sprouts uncontrollably
the country folk with fractured
fleeting
grins reflecting a singular
siren beaming through
a milky white fog
where pools
of stagnant waters
draw starlight and
magnetic fields
siphoning blood from faces
hidden behind votes, fa├žades, values
only a hologram of a once great palace
hidden in secret hanging gardens
of almighty hegemony

they see
rebels no longer standing tall with
two fingers held high
relegated to churches
and dividing a small country town
red and blue
soon
we will be nothing more
than smoke blowing from
their chimney tops
ashes to ashes
dust to dust

a passing exhalation
in the mid-morning sun
on the rocking chair
remembering
when he made a difference
and did not settle
in his parents old, backward routine

10/08/2005

Posted on 10/08/2005
Copyright © 2022 Curt Allday

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Jim Benz on 10/08/05 at 04:33 PM

I like the breathless musing of this, from one salient point to the next, only fully clarifying the context in the final stanza. Sort of unusual and risky, but very well done.

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