Old Faithful

Hundreds sit hunched
under umbrellas
over lunch waiting
for the geyser's gush.
Having parked in lots
ordained by the National
Park Service, in pews
they view the sermon.
Then comes the hail,
no hail Marys this hour,
back to the car or tour
bus to devour mush.

90, south of Missoula

The cows remain placid,
plastic in the rain,
the plains average,
the same.
But the people in their sport utiltiy eating disorder mobiles are immobilized,
kept to the speed-limited visibility of their automotive dreams of murder,
and driving through the plains is always the same,
plain, as the herder.

Republic of the Golden Bear

In California,
foreigners still search for gold,
old and young,
they end up on the beach.
On the coast,
seaweed lines make parking slots,
and a sign warns the locals
of a shark sighting.
Hunters with sharpened teeth
head west after the golden sun,
adding to the traffic lane by lane.
In this country everybody has a name.

California Seal

Ashore came some animal,
strewn aground by the surf.
It lie a mammalian mound,
presumably off course
of its obvious destination.

With consternation fitting
the stern visitourists, nobody
was sitting anywhere near it.
Flies picked at the shorebound
carcass amid avian scavengers.

"I thought seals lived farther north,"
a middle-aged man wagered to his wife,
dwarfing the situation with wit
and an of course intellectualism.
Here's where Man and Nature schism.

Muir Beach

The salt slowly dissolves,
leaving the sand wet
and footprints increment
as we walk by ourselves.

The birds are at play
no matter what time of day,
two-step and four-step away
from the incoming wave,

brave avians guarding the shore
until an exhale from the ocean floor
clips their toenails,
grounding them with the snails.

Ashore came some animal

Ashore came some animal
strewn aground by the surf.
It lie a mammalian mound,
presumably off-course
of its obvious destination.

With consternation fitting
the stern visitourists, nobody
was sitting anywhere near it.
Flies picked at the shourebound
carcass amid avian scavengers.

"I thought seals lived father north,"
a middle-aged man wagered to his wife,
dwarfing the situation with wit
and an of-course intellectualism.
Here's where man and nature schism.

San Francisco

The streets trounce on,
entranced by some trolley,
prolly heading toward the wharf,
dwarfing the mountain roads,
towards the port,
portable people ride,
rigatoni in their hides.
There's no hiding the miner's spirit,
that last century brought pan-handlers,
now men ask for hand-me-downs
on street corners,
that trounce on,
entranced by some trolley.

Sheriff's Posse, Rio Grande, Albuquerque

Serpentine slithers, the river
drifts wood from the north
through prickly underbrush
in hushful rushes of mud.

Local potters sit thin-lipped
at their family's oval kiln,
casino signs loom overhead,
the heirloom of the Res.

Coronado lives on in New Mexico,
the Navajo kept to a couple of acres,
the state still taking tourist reservations,
bleeding red the indian Nation.

New Mexico

The bleeding sands of the southwest,
foundation for truckers, oil wells,
drilling and driving,
the oil to fill the trucks
as they ping-pong across the plains,
reading and rereading the billboards,
the gas, food, lodging, trinkets
for the youngsters on the homestead.
Wouldn't they rather be home instead?