Alaskan cemeteries
beautiful wind-weathered stone markers
amongst the elk and moose and grizzlies, polar bear and walrus
are the dead hard to think of from here
where growling Harley’s, auto jams, streetlights and signs
absorb my love and goodwill
the significance of frosted graveyards
scales back the indefatigable wilds
nipping the edges of manicured grass
waiting to take back our deaths
patiently, inexorably
like the Huns of the Great War’s battlefields
push, push, over the top
up from man-saturated trenches
scrambling at the limitedly tamed Earth
that never surrenders to our
termite mound activities
on its geological mindset
so far beyond our finite groan of frustration
give in
give in at last
give way to what may come
we mow back the habitat of our cousins
a temporary home for our dearly deceased
shoulder to the stone, grunting all uphill
in the face of well-horned mountain goats
on the line of scrimmage
honking through broad nostrils
the call to charge
downward to extinction, oblivion
trampling graves and smarty-pants literature
as one race succumbs to another
like the last Neanderthal Man
guarding that final resting place of his all-for-naught brothers.


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