“Vienna Woods” skips on NPR,
to which I danced with my stick pony
and begged for graham crackers-
a long time ago.
Past ply-wooded Victorian mansions
-abandoned car graveyard.
Past “The “Villages At Lincoln”
a cheap facade
of human frustration
and drug addiction.
Crow’s wing plastered to warm pavement
dangles brazenly behind a Toyota Forerunner.
“Family Choice Budget Funeral Home”,
framed in the underarm
shoulder of barbed, dead cats, and poison ivy.
Past slab brick wiregrassed row houses
they sprawl like gassed gerbils,
rusted swing sets and McDonald’s bags.
(Flemming High School is in session)
Soaring through the overpass
still stained from
the suicide jumper.
Tires pick up his cell matter- past paper-cut mountains, blue and solid,
where black bears scratch for summer’s leftovers
and pant in anticipation of frost.
Wildflowers cold and silent, hidden on rocky slopes-
in those papered mountains-
that may not exist.
brown acreage of the bankrupt golf club,
Countryside’s proud, white barn,
its roof can-opened by storms-
perhaps its loft still with shreds of alfalfa
and memories of newborn calves.
then exit off
past the sunglassed radar gun
and swollen ground hog.
I drive too slow to be stopped.