JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

in a smoking

late afternoon

aftermath of

another world war

 

a crow pulls at

a piece of congealed meat

adhering to the scarred

surface of tank-tracked

melting asphalt

 

that once carried

baklava and bible story

cardamom and camel dung

mcdonald and coca cola

from east to west and back

 

the crow speaks all

languages – flap flap

pull pull, wrench, gobble

screetch screetch screetch

 

the rotting tar

speaks only one–

man’s folly