untitled (my favorite)
we’re cleaning out this dump.
somebody wants to turn it into a park.
from far away
it’s hard to tell it’s a dump.
it’s a ravine,
an overgrown chunk taken out of the earth,
scabbed over with synthetic globs.
but once i descend upon it,
sliding on old sneakers all the way
to the trickle of dirty water snaking across its floor,
all doubts sink into its sludge.
double-layered latex gloves provide
the illusion of safety against
you.
the rusty prongs of a plug
lead my slippery fingers down a wire
several feet underground to
an iron.
the slime embedded in its underside
would leave horrible, enduring skids
on that shirt you wore
the night we laughed so hard in the parking garage
about our stupid chicken joke
that i had to stop in the stairwell to catch my breath.
i could see it in the air then
like i can see it now,
as i struggle to unearth the remains
of an ancient picnic.
beer cans, paper plates, and glass that breaks
when you touch it.
devoid of those burgers you grilled
(and here’s the grill, rusted now.)
as i sat inside listening for the doorbell and to your brother,
telling me as i shooed him away from the potato chips,
telling him they were for the guests,
that things would never change,
that someday your house would be our house
and he would be my brother
and we’d all be decades older
but i’d still shoo him away from the potato chips.
but now all i can shoo are the flies
who seem to have a vested interest
in the dirty diapers that the back fender of this
piecemeal automobile conceals.
it’s the last glimpse i caught of you
as you drove away that early morning.
first light illuminated the last
moment when everything was right.
from then on, things just started
sliding down the hill,
artificially working their way into
shallow graves, turning
undergrowth into overgrowth
until it all became
a dump.
and now we are an orange
trash bag on a hillside,
collecting all that is rotting on the inside
to drag it out of this ravine
so that maybe one day
something beautiful will grow out of
the richness that all the shit left behind,
and somebody’s kids will play in the park.