From the look of things,
a tarted-up carousel toppled in mid-spin,
trickling zinc rings over her macadam skirt.
Not razed, estimates too high,
so this structural souvenir was discarded,
much too bulky to cart along.
Off the beltway, massive empty houses
wear Indian cornstalks like loud ties
Late autumn retains a trade of daylight
hours once people by mothers and
their unbridled children.
The UPS man seeks unburdening;
he staggers from door to door.
Newspapers pule up, and milk bottles.
The mailbox fills. Message tapes
whirr and click in hallways.
At Glen Echo, the asphalt cracks,
and grass goes brown
in honor of the season.
At evening drive time,
a garish canvas juggler
grins with the typical
stubbornness of objects.
Today’s catcall word: calliope.