Saturday, May 10, 2014

My Fallen Colleagues

They cared too much were too hands-on
during the nuclear winter of corporate takeover.

     The school had never seemed shabbier
slapped together as it was, in the winding town
of false fronts
unsightly backs.
     The town mistook itself, over and over,
for touristy.
     It was a homeless hub.  Heroin kits
found in the bathroom of the tiny library
war veterans from near and far spending the night
finding dry spots under the small boardwalk. 

It didn't seem to matter
how often or how little a situation grew
right smack in the path of the current outbreak
escaping from the volcano up slope.


  1. This is a strong candidate for my favourite poem of yours. Thanks Susan.