a world that’s never been
framed
by long-passed glory
it’s man made stones
hauled unceremoniously
from a thousand miles downstream
crumble now
before freedom’s green
green grass
of time

where are the mothers
who cooked and cleaned
and fed those men
stacking their fire-baked bodies
upon the slab

what has become
of all that toil
that rolled on rusted narrow rails
over and over again
from this dead chamber

slowly we pass
and take what we we will
and then drive on
congratulating ourselves
for our imagined
and arrogant
awareness

——

m(___)m