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13thWR
AMBUSHED IN AMBOY
the refinery towers rape a sluggish sky,
half asleep, probably drunk on
un-combusted aromatic hydrocarbons
and bored too by the job,
a whore who hangs out at
factory gates or a bar nearby,
takes in the junk spewed out
by the spills and gives it back
in tepid sprays she rains over
the aluminum siding of the endless
rows of boxes, all the same size
like the graves in Flanders cemetery
or wherever war made
loyal followers of men,
faithful lovers of dirt -
Every night some horny bastard
climbs a tower to the top to pluck
the flame,
and there he turns to smoke,
clinging to the soiled belly of the sky
he disappears into her womb.
No point looking for him,
he might hitch a ride on a lottery
ticket - so many of them
diesel their way into the horizon. . .
- Paul Sohar