Retaliation

Ashes of trees shroud the neighborhood,
a fresh dusting every morning
rises from the jaws of the bulldozers.
Wendell, determined to keep his car shiny
returns to his driveway
with sponge, hose and bucket.
I'm sitting Shiva with the forest
next to the three brawny machines
in the clean dirt swath they've
rolled out like a carpet
not at all like the junkyard heap
of a forest floor.
I can't tell what's the wind
or the creek or the moan of the freeway
between gusts of silence.
In the middle dozer's windshield
there's a bullseye-shaped crack
where the Earth, resilient, feisty
old bitch that she is
kicked a stone into the Goliath's eyes.

4th of July

I live near the underpass
Where I crashed
my car. The hill
hurled me down through the rain
into the concrete wall.
It didn’t cause me any pain.
I walked away.
I didn’t change.
I slept that night.
I lived.
I still live.
I drive.
I live
nearby
Where I nearly
Died,
the hill
that tried to kill
Me. Isn’t it wonderful
To feel nothing at all?
The sky is blue everywhere,
empty
Ready to be filled
with fire. Tonight
explosions will hatch
over the underpass
in the sky,
And here below too.