by David Chorlton
In the damp light that follows
a stormy rain
it’s easy to imagine peace
has been declared between the rich
and poor; that nobody wants
more than they have; that the train
whose whistle carries
all the way from where it crosses
Grand Avenue is carrying
blankets for those who sleep
on our streets in the approaching
winter; that the clouds
have parted to signal
a cancelled execution; that the sunset
is a glow of satisfaction
and that the air
has been cleaned once and for all.
It’s easy to imagine
the end of an occupation
with the advent of a true democracy
or that a baseball game has just ended
where, under the blessing
of a benevolent god
both sides won.
David Chorlton has lived in Arizona since 1978, when he moved from Vienna, Austria. While much of his poetry is about the Southwestern landscape, his newest publication, and first work of fiction, is The Taste of Fog from Rain Mountain Press, reflecting a darker side of Vienna.
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