The Aftermath by Michael H. Brownstein

after a visit to the Pine Ridge, South Dakota

I woke badly this morning
flesh of cucumbers piled on the kitchen counter
the dogs resting behind their barricade
outside, a Monsanto gray

the snare drum still needs a resting place
two cardboard boxes outside the door rust
a splinter of glycerin in my palm
a running field with a keep off sign
green leaves oil dark

some days the sun misses the point
Pine Ridge gathers itself in shadow and pollutants
yesterday no one marched

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