MAC LAJOWSKY

Reclamation

For the past week
I've woken every morning
monster roar
of a bulldozer
stomping, growling
chomping, tearing.

The weekend next-door neighbors,
building a new garage
for their new Cadillac.

I struggle this morning,
drinking a cup of dark coffee,
trying to read a poem about
picking a rose rooted in the air,
but the bulldozer
won't allow any peace.

Frustrated, I look to
the other neighbor.
The cabin vacant, decomposing.
Fresh Douglas Fin splits planks
of the abandoned back porch.
Roof slouches, heavy with moss.
ready to fall.
The land reclaiming itself.

The bulldozer has stopped for now,
but it will begin again,
noisy, obscene as before.

Over time, the yellow belching monster
will die, go to some junkyard
Rust into the soil.
So will that Cadillac.
So will I.

Trees will split the concrete foundation
of their new garage,
reach for the sun.
It's roof will become covered in moss,
and one day collapse.

Poem for Tony M., Bombs Falling Over Baghdad

Friend, how did it
come to this?
You, fifteen thousand miles away
on some warship.
Making war on a country
you slept through
in high school geography.
never even asked
about in history.

Said you needed cash for college-
but, things got complicated.
Leaders started arguing,
businesses got worried,
and you received orders.

Chances are good
you are either loading
or firing bombs on Baghdad tonight.
Patients are dying.
Children are burning.
Oil is flowing.

Had you known then
your payment comes in blood,
would you still be on the warship?

Tony, I don't deserve an answer
to that question.
You do.