1. Surveillance booths stud
    all major intersections. Statues
    whose images might ignite the public
    will to resist are shrouded
    in black plastic, wound
    in police barricade tape.
    Missiles streak upward through
    heavy, darkening skies toward
    their imaginary alien targets.

  2. The old red convertible
    with poetic license
    plates, powered by a perpetual
    motion machine, will no longer
    exceed any speed limit,
    but I do not like the look of
    the only mechanic in town.

  3. A man I do not recognize
    is giving levitation lessons
    on a hillside in bright sunlight.
    His students (a grey horse, a calf,
    a goat, two dogs, and five laughing
    children) drift toward the ground,
    kick the air, lift, and float again.

©2002 F.J. Bergmann

"Salutary" appeared in Margie–The American Journal of Poetry #1

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