Their Happenstance's Gold
Impoverished bodies- you roam, as wolves reintroduced
Themselves into your abandoned home:
Your wives, your daughter- forgotten and swimming inside
Pools,
And sloping down from there: canals, and canals-
Lost toys floating away-
Cenotaphs of conquistadors half dredged up- languidness of
Pain and broken chastity:
Girls on roller skates who once hoped to make their own
Music in the rain,
Now with scabbed knees, weeping weeping, head down
In the palmettos- taking sips form flasks of the
Half escaped dwarfs:
Latin graffiti on their broken down bodies- tattoos of never
Found boyfriends
And windmills:
And looking up there, funneling across the soccer field
That some poor Mexican just mowed:
More of the horror coming down the yard, souping up the song
Birds, killing away the hours,
Peeling away their innocent flowers, their happenstance’s gold.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
Added by Poetry Lover
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