There's as many cars
As orange
Red
And yellow
Leaves whirling around in the parking lot
In the northbound run of wind
Between the tires and bumpers
And dark tinted windows
Of silver and black rides
Parked in straight lines
On the sweeping
Sun soaked
Tar
Every mother, daughter and girlfriend
Is waiting
Grandaughters too
Bouncing in patient mother’s arms
Dressed in Sunday’s finest
Crowded like the entrance to church
Outside the razor-wire gate
Waiting to be processed
And buzzed in
There is a hum
In the crowd
Like the electricity traveling through the high-voltage power lines
Hanging from the towers just past the facility
Steel upon steel upon steel blue
Slashing the crisp autumn sky
Like metal razor edges
Lacerating the willowy tissue
The change of seasons
Afront
Out there
Beyond the metal detectors
Can only be felt
Not seen
By those
Incarcerated
In the yard
They circle like painted leaves
That have lost their color
Choreographed by time
And habit
Change
Is just outside
On their front doorstep
Even the painted ladies
Waiting to pass
Through security
Fail to notice
Such a simple fact
Of nature
No comments:
Post a Comment