Monumental

What it looks like when

you’re sprawled on the gravel:

all the trash looks monumental.

weed forests. bottle caps.

broken toys.

Looking through the window

at smoked chickens

hanging by their feet,

I see roses and dragons

across the street.

A chair sits in the empty lot

next to the crumbling shop

on Welcome Street.

Christmas decor hangs

on street light poles:

removal three weeks past due.

A sign warns that it is

unlawful to pass a school bus

stopped for children.

Across the road, 

the sign I see,

says _HELL.

Guns and auto parts

buy, sell, trade, repair

or layaway. Bikes and ammo.

Daytime barflies catching

January sun against a wall.

The empty concrete reservoir

looks like a desert plain on Mars.

Some one has left a single

low top canvas tennis shoe.

When I sprawl on my belly,

the city disappears.