A Sleep (poem)
A Sleep
The end of ability infected conductors
who let the trains roll cumbered to catch fire
dragging bodies
The end of ability infected farmers
who harrowed into highway tar
and streambeds until the ragged tires tore
to the rims
and the machines upended
The end of ability infected caretakers
who could not rise from their chairs to open doors
began to feel caring could have an end
buildings be evacuated
parking lots driven home from
and if never visited again
guilt and responsibility eroded
from the planet’s face
The end of ability infected the ones at home
the bills and the meals cooked
the washing and the trash walked outdoors
the question of weather
foam at the lead of a shallow wave
smoke at the lead of one smoldering
structures housing idle figures who will not serve
from the couch morning eyes spot a refugee crawled inside
A Sleep
Mercy
(2021, Stephanie Foster)