by on June 4, 2023 :: 0 comments

churchbells ring from the nearby shrine
through empty Sunday streets
memories of Durango and Cosenza we brought here
the bones and stone tools of mound builders & mammoth hunters
lay in display cases in the local library
as forgotten by the road builders as the ruins of Rome
or Tenochtitlan were forgotten before this
we are the wheat of civilization
it feeds on us, marches its armies on our backs
and in turn it tends us until the harvest
hungry for soil, space, thirsty, costly, and always growing

history, climate change, wilderness – the news from other countries
don’t mean much to us
we know our place in the scala naturae
we will mow our lawns, wash our cars, pay our taxes, and buy our bananas
confidant that the churchbells will keep ringing
in the distance on Sunday forever.

editors note:

Carry on, we. No bells toll for thee. (We welcome Dan to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of his madness on his new page – check it out.) – mh clay

Leave a Reply