Scenery Poem by shimon weinroth

a statue of Don Quixote,
made from scraps of metal
rusting in the sun,
pointing to a banana tree,

its elephant leaves
blot out some cactii,
beyond a telephone pole
is tallest of them all

squinting I can see a horizon
where the the sky does meet
a line of brush, green white and blue
blends with the hues

my mind blots out a junk pile,
stuck in the middle of a pastoral view
wire, rubber hose, paper and tin
and reminders of electrical sin

that have bit the dust
we must plow them under
put them to rest
erase them from sight,

when I am gone
what will remain
and what will reign
in this territory insane