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On the Destruction of Troy

Mother will pay you
Ten dollars an hour
To do your manual suburban labor.

Mowing the lawn
Strummed no strings
Of your heart harp.

Climbing a ladder weakened
Your boney knees,
But with a deep breath and bravado
You took a fist from the shaking aluminum,
And reached up
Toward the ragged wall to pull
The dead
Leaves and sticks and ladybug carcasses
From a clogged downspout.

And with man muscles and scraggly scruff
You laid waste
To the thick rotted bamboo
You once felt safe amongst,
In your stronghold cocoon against
Concrete and sirens and city.

Chop-saw-timber,
You are old
And vain and a hypocrite

Because you help them tame it
With your architectural landscaping expertise.

Posted 07/22/10
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