Poetry

John Clare eating grass and knowing he is Childe Harold

2009

Today 21 Feb. Fahrenheit

And the enormous cement houses

Are empty

 

John Clare eats grass and knows he is Childe Harold

Jane Bowles’ small hand reaches across time and whole worlds to hold mine

 

I feel the desperate dead

Restlessly looking for lost worlds

 

Only 97 years ago Las Vegas was wetland

A vast grazing plain for cattle and wild animals

 

Our migration will look different

Abandoning our feeding grounds in our Taco Bell uniforms

Scavenging the desolate Cracker Barrels for food

Along the interstates

Claudia Keelan is the author of several books of poetry, most recently Missing Her from New Issues Press.
Photo courtesy of alex_ford.
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