Silently they stand in circle, these three old men,
and though no architectural wonders,
Stonehenge magnified in space and time.
The seasons come and go around them,
bringing no pleasure or pain,
their structures casting shadows as deep
as the Grand Canyon played by the sun.
Day after day, it sees the universe.
They, only GM and Toyota,
their strange occupants swallowed and regurgitated
regularly from the false security of rectangular cells;
red with the stuff of life, these three will never see or hear.

And if they could, what would they think
of the creatures inhabiting them?
Decorated as often as the lives played out
in the carefully arranged compartments.
Lovers who fight, then forgive to fight again,
or an off duty policeman,
disappearing into one of the conveniently placed holes.
Pierced grungers, sneaking past his doorway
with their bags of candy.
Late at night, their music cranked
to entertain neighbors two floors above;
indigestion for one of the old men,
no brand of antacid will cure,
but one day perhaps bring a smile no human can identify,
when the landlord tapes an eviction notice to the culprits’ door.

© 1981

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12/17/2015

Posted on 12/17/2015
Copyright © 2024 Chris Sorrenti