some rainy, foggy, chilly midweek
when secretaries call in sick
and postmen wear goulashes
go to the zoo and take in what’s left
splash along the water-covered concrete
past occasional trees bent, looking away
from the wind’s lick
see the muddy, mucky, peanut-shelled patch
where there stands the buffalo
knee-deep, with dirty, unkempt, matted hair
his eyelids closing out the drizzle
shoulders that held up america
clothed the indians in a montana mountain snow
fed starving wagoneers not quite to the promised land
mark of the plains
symbol of an era
it is fitting that he be visited
for his eyelids are closing now, america
and postmen wear goulashes
go to the zoo and take in what’s left
splash along the water-covered concrete
past occasional trees bent, looking away
from the wind’s lick
see the muddy, mucky, peanut-shelled patch
where there stands the buffalo
knee-deep, with dirty, unkempt, matted hair
his eyelids closing out the drizzle
shoulders that held up america
clothed the indians in a montana mountain snow
fed starving wagoneers not quite to the promised land
mark of the plains
symbol of an era
it is fitting that he be visited
for his eyelids are closing now, america
2 comments:
Hi Jack,
This reminds me of visiting a zoo, with a caribou, matted and neglected, out of his element. There's such a sadness, reflecting on the majesty that once was/could be. As a poem, you have a knack for taking the reader from one place to another, traveling with you through wind and climate and sights and ideas, with a rhythmic wandering and wondering, capturing a mood.
My Chippewa ancestors would love you for this mighty fine poem Jack. But then, I would have to set them straight
Post a Comment