The detour signs led us
off the road we knew
and pot holes opened up like sink holes.
Shacks and crooked
trailers dotted the road
and the car quieted-
our children in the
back suddenly paying attention.
We’d crossed a border without
guards
and entered a country where
people sit on porches
and don’t wave.
The road took us deeper
into the dappled woods
and curved through hills
fit for a travel brochure
but outside the window
garbage overflowed the ditch—
discarded tires and tin
cans, shiny pieces
of broken
glass signaling for help.
Dust hung in the air
and breached the rolled windows.
Our detour through this
country inside a country
made our children put
down their games
and ask questions we
couldn’t answer.
This poem is my attempt to play "Play It Again" one last time with the prompt from The Imaginary Garden With Real Toads. I selected the challenge issued by Sherry Blue Sky to pen a poem of social commentary.
Also linked to Earthweal a new site dedicated to poetry of a changing earth.