Don’t think I haven’t dreamed my way
Down the 8-Mile Road to the seam
Between the hollow and the world
Where the New People live, riding
The buzz of New Caffeine
And the techno-pulse of EarPod beats
As they eHuddle over MacBook screens
To code the next New Things.
But I’ve drunk the valley mist
And heard the owl on evening watch
And felt the fox brush by my feet
On silent moonless winter nights
And seen the blackberries waiting
For the birds and me, so I think I’ll stay
Awhile among the shuttered mines
And mournful diesel lullabies.
This piece appears in the San Pedro River Review.