Wednesday, September 30, 2009

551. RIDGEMONT

RIDGEMONT
Egalitarian humanity takes turns
hugging other people - one by one,
filled with love and cookies. Children
stare up at the prison on the hill.
Its granite and stone walls, ever-foreboding,
try speaking to them in code. Like lollipops
of cherry-flavored goo, they melt away,
smiling to hide their fear.
-
Near the top, where the guard still stands
sentry with an afternoon rifle and scope,
some wily hawk swoops down, and plucks
up a screaming squirrel. It's over in a flash -
a pluck of air, some noisy crunch, and,
falling back to the ground, a severed
leg or a broken-off claw. The
poor grey-squirrel never
had a chance.

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