Grand Junction by Neeli Cherkovski

I am not a silent poet

the rivers meet where sentences slide.
I’d bet my life, lie on a river-bed.
the slim young man in dungarees will slip
into position when the sun has gone
into overdrive. the sons and daughters
of my generation will prepare
for the end-game. some might linger
for years. others will fall into sleep
and not return. in Grand Junction
I take my chances.

fight the killer birds who perch
on your spark plugs. is it
a God makes mercy work or common
decency? from Junction we visit
the canyons to witness the geologic
truth. a fat man who makes
a big deal of selling cups of iced tea. when
I say “fat” I mean easily 350 pounds. his body
jiggles. “Dive right in” he tells me. “Cool,” I
say and return to the van.

some of the rock formations are one
billion years old you may wish to purchase

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