A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature
Miss America calls to tell me
to look closely at the trees,
the cocoons like balls of cotton
sunk in the leaves.
The people of the town
wearing nets over their faces.
Think of them at night,
ghosts with human bodies.
Miss America tells me
the first poet has been arrested
under the new leader
The new leader conducts
bomb tests in his bathtub.
Miss America tells me these things.
Her voice on the phone
breaking up like a flock of birds
Copyright 2017 Leonard Gontarek