closure
beat your swords into plowshares
Isaiah says
in Colorado it’s different
first, poison the land while smelting your swords
so no person may call it home
then wait
for the weapon of choice to change
the killing to grow more efficient
the boom to bust
and the other beings to return
the hooved and winged and furred folk
don’t know about sarin gas
or plutonium’s halflife
they see only a quiet open space to be
today we pile out at Camp Hale
a fairly upbeat installation
known for fresh-faced skier boys
and I’m not thinking of death
the kids skitter off down the dirt road
and I stop at the sign
eyeing a closure
wondering what wildlife
we might be lucky enough to see
but it’s not like that
ASBESTOS
no human entry
human health closure
they’re too far to call back
and I’m not positive
where we are on the map
the whole area’s off-limits
to off-trail use, too
and when the beavers’ handiwork
forces us off the asphalt
I wonder –
unexploded ordnance?
I hold my breath
not knowing what safe looks like here
cursing the military-industrial complex
feeling conflicted about these
contaminated but public lands,
like Rocky Mountain Arsenal
and Rocky Flats
with their innocent burrowing owls
and elegant jumping mice
still greenwashing the worst of our nature
I don’t want plowshares left even
I just want to beat all those swords
to dust
proxies for the men who profit from them
mostly I want to stop worrying about where we step
and what we might breathe
just recklessly take in this blue sky
and bands of white clouds
without having to think
about the terrible things
we do to our own
