Shades

I watched thirteen years
of neighborhoods build
there own replacements
out of spare parts, rage,
and the darkest oil
nobody would buy.

I stood there
when the scarecrow
fell from it’s cross
and rose back up
like a rag
being dragged
by it’s corner.

In crowds like ocean waves
we marched out
wasting days of pay
to keep Saturn where it should be.
Not allowing that colossal ring
to bend outward into bladed
shape and hack apart
the galaxy around us.

Too many friends rundown
after slamming open hands
against polished hoods
to fire cutting stares
through windshields
past the drivers.

She taught me on that hillside
how hold the bow
and see the dark neck of the boar
with just my eyes.
The smaller arrows kill them best
she said and moved her braid
over her shoulder,

her sunglasses obsidian
and sharp.