And the Poets Down Here...
by Jim Dunlap

In the family 61 Oldsmobile
The whole episodic rides
down the interstate, arcane and dense
With the growing smell of salt in the air
yes, I was there
Your little brother let your cheating
at backseat car games slide, so long
as you would take him on the bumper cars

Later, on summer nights
that shimmered like faraway
Nebulae turned inside out
On the Ferris wheel
When the wheel stopped at the top
yes, of course I was there
No need to debark now, as  in the past
to step inside the rooftop observatory
because when she pressed her arm against yours
Arcadia's charts were laid out for you

And now prayers arrive
for mortar to persevere
and for the supplication of transient greed to abate
I receive them all, as I always have and will
But, by now you should know
Long after the turnpike has gone the way of the canals on Venus
Long after the Pantheon has been claimed by the rising sea
Long after the last slimy dollar has passed any directorate's hand
A thousand years will pass like a day
and I will be waiting, smiling over Kingsly
again feeling the wonder
as you stare upon the countenance of your own accord
unable to remember a time that I was not here