The Richland Water Treatment Plant
I was 11.
We went on a tour.
Supposed to be educational.
All I remember
is huge cylinders covered
with human waste
rotating before our eyes.
"Don't touch!"
Our community shit
all mashed together.
The notorious snobbery
of the town's residents
dissolves in the end.
It all ends up in the same place.
We all end up in the same place.
On the way back to school,
our bus passes the cemetery,
fresh dirt piled on a grave.
11/13/09
© Anne Westlund
Poetry by Anne Westlund
Read 1139 times
Written on 2010-01-23 at 11:10
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