these sharp uniforms hold status, desires unsolicited

tearing down the interstate, two young men arrive
another task to which they’ve been assigned
no one knows exactly by whom or where next the road will lead

a hole where their windshield once was,
no protection from the hot asphalt spray

the river below them is torn open
barges travel against the current, industry lines the shore

one of the town cherishes a vision of herself
but feels unworthy

one fears integrating that which he has seen
and screams for his own destruction

and one, groped through throngs of praise
for a comfort she never found

a vision of honesty slips past the point of no return

one mutters to the next:
unseen, exposure collects a tax too heavy for our brightest hopes to pay

an unkempt comrade turns and washes his hands,
no one knows anymore just quite how to cope

nameless mothers cry tears of dark oil,
wonder what more they could have done

somewhere the scalp of our faith is momentarily held aloft

the unspoken fear is that there’s no place left that can’t be overrun

05/10/2009

Author's Note: The world is a great deal poorer today.

Posted on 05/10/2009
Copyright © 2025 A.M. Demarco