Railroad spikes on the windowsill
Corrode with the dead cicada.
It was there he watched in mourning
As the Bush House burned to the ground.
That night he stole across the river,
Past the fences and the signs,
And when he reached the ruined lot
He spirited a pair of bricks
One for himself and one for a friend.
Down from the county courthouse
With its dome of copper green,
The lamps of main street bear
The portraits of their veterans.
The ceiling of the antique store
Leaks above its wares,
The jadeite bowls and Bakelite scoops
And carousels of yellowbacks,
And among them, placed with care,
The buckets catch the rain.
The windows of the plant are broken
And the playground is forgotten:
The paint and rust fall off in flakes
From the iron ladybug.
He drives his Chevy Blazer
Through the deserts of the quarry,
Among the derelicts of weeds,
The deer skulls and refrigerators.
The drakes hold fast upon the stream
As the rounds of his rifle sound.