Sunday, April 21, 2019

Infinite Individuals

After-dinner mints
Packaged in plastic
American-flag wrappers

Sat heaped in a dark glass bowl
Just inside the door
Of a steakhouse in Saint George.

Torn-open, cast-off wrappers,
Shredded American flags,
Littered ornamental stones

In the xeriscaped garden
Around the entrance.
Nothing surprising in that.

But up at the reservoir
At least an hour’s drive from there,
The other evening I saw

One of those wrappers
Emerging out of the sand
Not far from the shore.

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