THREE-LAYERED POEM
Green ink stains imagination.
In their gated communities,
residents in zebra camouflage,
like zombies unable to escape
their chosen fates,
ram their SUV’s through steel-reinforced
front gates.
An old dancer rises in a Juárez tavern,
scrapes her heel twice
against the wavy wooden planks
of the tavern floor
then slowly resurrects young men,
clouds of young men,
plus some middle-aged geezers,
from the peaceful sunlit dust
of her Juárez tavern.
©Alan Britt 2007
Posted over on Hecale
No comments:
Post a Comment