October Poem 5: Traditional American Values

It’s just like water under the bridge, pooled

And stagnant with an oily sheen from

The decomposition of this season’s

Fallen leaves. And the smell. The methane burps

Rising up from the black bottom, and the

Sulfur gas stuck down in the ditch dug from

All the years when the water had moved. To

Walk up on the bridge shows the beauty of

The weathered wood and rusted nails. And the

Path choked by weeds teeming with insects for

The birds to eat. And the dead cat floating

Baptized in the pool of bottom feeders

Plucking at his putrefying innards

In the holy water of the dollar store God.


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