AMERICA WAS ALWAYS PROMISES
errol miller
“America was always promises.”
- Archibald Macleish
So
each literary decade
wears on.
There
is no absolute formula
for peace.
I
am compelled to ripen like
solstice-season figs.
And before me
there is a great divide diverting
its evening-traffic to me.
Poor health,
poor soul, poor in spirit, no hard cash
from the government, either.
I am
losing all my lost years, I can’t
even keep my head.
One year,
two years, five years, ten years,
maybe more.
Out of the Southwest
like a whirlwind, out on the plains,
a hint of slow insanity . . .
Leaving this house
to search for meat, it’s been
a long dry summer.
And sections
of the land are closed
for the duration . . .
Comrades,
huddled in the dust
dead, all dead.