Sunday, October 31, 2010

Ants with Sticks

I watched them dismantle a cat's game in my backyard,
their X's and O's imprinted in the rust-filled sand,
symbols left behind like fossils who refused to change.
I watched them transplant the frame piece-by-piece
over new blades of grass, new blooming flowers,
hoping for new results in a time left to old thoughts:
free land, free energy, free love in arms of freedom.
Sedentary, I sat watching and drinking beer
while a tired sun set behind the distant hill;
political ads poured out my windows, ignorance
screamed back-and-forth like my wavering curtains
torn by the hands of an evening draft—I sat,
I watched them play games with broken branches,
and the history of our world continued to suffer.

3 comments:

  1. Yeah, Feingold will do that to ya ;)

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  2. Nice blog, I like your poetry a lot!

    Whitney

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  3. Yes, indeed. Very interesting, and poetic.

    ReplyDelete