A trip through Roseville led to this reflection:
Who can we blame but ourselves?
The black top parking lots
scarcely interrupted by beige stucco barns
The cattle feed
gorging themselves on waste and excess.
Fresh towels lie in the trash and
tiles protrude from the wall behind the urinal
not a minute to lend to detail
or pride in labor,
for they are needed in pursuit of a
wider, greener pasture.
Although I rarely lift my face to speak,
I ask myself
-- the higher power too ambiguous --
When the grass has been pulled by its roots
and the brittle earth takes flight
on the breeze,
I hear the whisper of trees
fallen and plowed over
on alloy wheels
to humdrum subdivisions.
[06 SEP 07]