Under the Siesta
Aluminium
discarded
angelic and reflective
catches a glint of saintliness.
Spry as a caterwauling neon sign,
it settles
before splitting
lengthwise.
Froth.
From the needles to the pines,
the swamps to the sled-tracks,
it reigns.
Spilled over from bilious exhausts;
made, shrewdly, by the
white-clad, scheming, roof-light-laden
tramplers of pride.
Let's light a fuse,
the imbecile says.
The wise spit on his sentence
with a studied snarl.
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