The Injured Slopes

Artifax, Vol. 1.2 (1971)

Sheldon White

Dark eucalyptus stand in shaggy rows,
Small oak trees interrupt the yellow grass,
And horses huddle where the fenceline goes;
Here bright October sleeps below the pass.

Old winds chopped down the mountain towers
Above these fields where lately iron teeth
Reduced the soil and in a few short hours
Cold concrete tombed the injured slopes beneath.

With bridges arching high above the drains
And shining serpent curves of man-made stone
Coiling back upon themselves, concentric lanes,
The freeway writes hard beauty of its own.

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