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Birches
By Phil Hall
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We are no better
off than those
birches
in the hard snow out
these frosted
windows
half umber as
the last of the sun
across the lake lets
go of us
short-lived quick to
burn jointed like
dray-horses vacant
epistolary
another snapping Jesus
January to live
through
double-sweatered
by square logs by Galvalume
by birch fires
confessing why
bother
in town the
Silverados nudge up
to the Tim Hortons
drive-though
any hour for that
awful coffee that
tastes like liquid
cigarettes
off highway 7
a Florida transport
wheels south down
Gore St
may I fume at the
toadies & liars
who swagger in
government
now
they have
vetoed the human
village mandate of
caring for citizens
the Samaritan
impulse our
lightning rod /
pitch-pipe has been
re-wired
emotionless
re-defined
competitive &
press-released as a
perky
blood-sucking
turbine that
hates
farmland
archives old
growth
women
discussion
stillness we are
birches
splayed cold
black
it is night all our
premise
appropriated sneered
at
betrayed
river by river
mountain by mountain
sea to sea
Phil
Hall is
surrounded.
Published
On: July 1, 2014
Permanent
Location:
http://www.forgetmagazine.com/140701a.htm
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