Hole

— Jerry Dyer

There’s a hole that cannot be plugged
in the Gulf of Mexico—
and in the Chesapeake, the fish
are dying by the million,
their unblinking eyes
asking questions of the tide.

Smudge-pots flare
in orange grove rows,
factory flues glow,
and car exhausts
form mirror-clouds
above cities, their suburbs and slums.

Jet fantails web the sky.
At night, airliners cant downward,
headlights burning,
catching our gaze
under Orion, below the moon.

In Arkansas, birds
are falling from the air,
black as sin,
their wings on fire.

One thought on “Hole

  1. Thanks to all for your very kind comments! I was truly sorry to miss out in March. (You KNOW I’m really sick if I can’t make it to the reading.) Reading many of the open mic poems, I was even sorrier that I had not been well: this was a brilliant collection, an amazing range and depth of poetry. I am so happy and proud to be part of this group; you inspire every month. See you on April 21st!

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