Voices on the Wind
Voices from Home
by Lars Samson
The late-afternoon breeze was friskier
than its usual, serene self. Blowing up the dresses
of leafy trees. Shoving some burly trunks as if
looking for a scuffle.
Behind the taming chain-link, cobblestones remained
aligned and indifferent. But the plastic furniture grew more
and more brittle.
They know these raw materials will be buried,
in a planetary wink, leaving winds with nothing
to justify themselves. Organic matter choked
lifeless. Compressed into oil.
To be boiled down to plastic.