Pulling away from the 22nd Bay Parkway station
First there’s the cemetery—haphazard, endless
This is followed by the curving white monolith of an apartment building
That sticks out like bone over the exposed green of the playing fields.
Everything’s dulled by a deep set soot.
The river’s long since silted-up—the land around it bucked and wrinkled.
The Dutch were right to call it “broken”.
The odor of food takes a long time to pass you by
Television antennas on thin silver rods
Are tilted towards Mars
While down below at the edge of the continent
There are cigarettes to soothe the weak.