Capitol Hill, circa 1976The TV towers' warning lights grow dimmer
Toward the towers' tops as clouds that roll in from
The ocean sink. The jets they're meant to warn
Come rumbling, unseen, in the sky, above me.
No one else is near. It's summer. All the kids
Are gone. The dorms across the street are empty.
All the bars are empty, too, and all the fast-food
Places which the locals, with their food-stamp
Books, can't patronize, have no one in them.
It's as if a plague has come, a toxic fog. The
Infrastructure perseveres, but every sign of life
Is gone. I shrug. I never liked the pack. I used
My food-stamp book to buy a decent steak,
A cantaloupe, and I move briskly back toward
Home, to eat, to hear the jets go by as I look
At abandoned streets, a coyote, almost, someone
Who has learned to be alone.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 150 times
Written on 2019-06-12 at 01:27
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