Where the landfills used to be

Mark Krueger

Recently after a trip to the dump (recycling site) to see if someone could pick up a load of junk at my cabin on a small lake, I reflected on youth:

Where in the shade of

a toll booth an

inspector watches

engine oil toys

and appliances separated

from ground waters

in the irretrievable containers

of lost childhoods

seepage slowed

the lake breathes

“can someone

pick up a load at my place?”

I ask across the dusty lot

when I was a little boy

God was a farmer with a straw hat

and milkers driving a cloud with a

a tractor steering wheel

and the expressionless

man in bib overalls responds:

we have someone who

will do it for free

to which

I recall

in this divide

is the other after

the sorting