On A 10 To 1 City Council Vote Poem by Bill Grace

The yellow bags over gas pumps
remind me how fragile is this civilization thing
that cannot bare a hurricane up the road
or memories of an evil civil war and its institutions.
It is what lies just below the surface that I fear.

My hope is watching the young lovers in Walmart
who have a frisky play about them as they enter
and the idiot savant who checks for a register receipt
to insure no more than a basket load of stuff is stolen.