LANDSCAPE WITH QUESTIONS
Another minivan abandoned off
the off-ramp. Someone said I’ve had enough
and left, just left, and left the radio on
and singing baby, baby, you’re the one.
And who is that when there is no one there?
God, like everybody else, is scared
of everybody else, and trying to hide.
So smoke. So black-winged drones. So so much light
at such strange angles that make the empty hand
look full, look like a fist. Look out at the land.
It isn’t barren, so why does it feel so bare?
The churches are full of people, so are the bars—
the life’s work of the dead. So which lives matter?
Ask the glass and blacktop; you’ll get no answer.
