“landfill clapping” by Tony Mancus

we should watch
how the sirens
turn their way
down the wind

should hear traffic
stall before it reaches
the coast. a whole
lie. the swarm

of bee-like people
work-a-day/work-a-day
waiting. we should garnet
the stray cats and wash off

the puppies, their blind
and milky-white eyes,
their weak-in-the-knee-
stumble sopping with cute.

we should know
something and how
to do it -- make wood out
of trees and out

of wood, what -- a handle,
a complete set
of reference materials?

what else we should end
where we kick and jump
and stand -- a stay for folly --
a stable of known

flims and flams.
this circus can't
get any more round,
crowded, can't let

the cows mingle
with the clowns.
the barker.
shut his mouth

with a nail gun.
it's a slide-show, too
replete with gorgeous
bearded women -- statues

of commerce buried
under their toes.
the poor folk
of name-your-sad-town

come begging.
their children strapt
to them. their backs.
their dreams

and remembrance.
out of wood
the forest returns
to take over

the land full of clapping.
mouthy children
stampede to their posts.
a line of them and lies.

a line of what
and waiting -- to dig up
the dirt, to play
at work and wages.

we should sell off
the caps we no longer wear
and trade in our jargon
for better, cleaner-burning

jargon -- stuff
that dazzles
and purrs.