a small path
hugged
between a patch of
open forest and
a dead end
two lane
road.
up ahead,
a man crosses
this road pushing
a bike.
he continues pushing
along the path.
i look briefly
away,
look back,
he’s gone.
the forest has to be
regularly beaten back
from the path.
the berry bushes
hacked and tamed.
a slug
slugs wetly
on the ground.
a longer look and
i see its guts
exploded quietly from it.
monster trucks
roam benignly
along the brief bits
of road.
there are only
a few miles
of road here;
the monster trucks are
hemmed in.
the monster trucks are
oafish.
the monster trucks are
impotent.
fear
shudders
the ground.
turning towards
the woods,
the branches
are quiet in the wind.
the human settlements,
so often
unsettling.
my father had his
chest split open and
the heart removed.
i am uncertain if
it was ever
put back.
he was hollow
and pale,
after that.
he was yellow and
always whistling.
perhaps,
had my father
been taught that
anger
is really just
displaced love,
perhaps then
i would have
learned how to
be happy.
happiness is
a form of
slavery.
the planet,
every day,
it disappears and
comes back.
it expands and
contracts.
expands and
contracts.
like a heart.
zakschafer.com 