Inspired by an article by David Lamb, "Revolutionary Road," published in Smithsonian Magazine (March 2008).
Buses careen on a mountain road
chickens in passengers’ laps.
Cars, semis, scooters speed
past a concrete strip mall,
where I dug out barracks
and patched the craters
left by enemy bombs
fifty years ago.
Prostitutes smoke at the truck stop
where I fell in love
with a handsome soldier.
Our mountain burned
with passion,
smoked with death.
A week later
I buried his remains.
Now the mountain breathes the fumes
of diesel gasoline,
suffers the onslaughts
of dynamite and bulldozers.
Workers widen the highway
where we once followed a footpath
and drank from cold, clear streams.
Though carved and changed
the mountain lives on,
morning mist wraps around it
like comfort.
I pray for its long life,
at least until the moment
I decide to crawl inside
and join the one I loved
so many years ago.
My Tiny Career
