by Kenneth Hart
Somebody hung out his red, white and blue
laundry on the highway overpass outside Providence,
a short distance from the prison crew picking up
our Cheetos bags and burger wrappers
and monster drink cups. We're stalled in traffic;
bumper stickers announce the price of freedom,
claim liberty is our right.
The guard in mirror sunglasses leans against
the correctional facility van, props a shotgun on his knee
like he's auditioning for a movie. He's protecting
our freedom to litter from the inmates' desire
to be free to litter. We inch along;
past the Budweiser billboards and the ad haiku,
brakes wheeze — some like an espresso machine,
some like an aging soprano with emphysema.
It looks like this is going to take awhile, here
beneath the soiled laundry of the republic
which clings to a chain link fence.
Maybe the seagull floating above us
sees a few things that we can't.
He's probably scavenging for something
we've left behind.
Coney Island Bird, NYC, March 2009
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2 comments:
I love this poem and of course, the red, white and blue laundry line makes it compatible with my laundry photos...so much more than that however. thanks for posting it, DLA. Yvette
I heard this poem on the radio, and then happily stumbled upon this blog.
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