I have counted
the bulldozers on the mountain
& watched, slack-jawed,
as their giant tires
tear up the ground,
as their heavy metal shovels
growl and snarl
like junkyard dogs. I have seen
them raze and level
bit by bit
even the last remnants
of my childhood
with no second thought
not even a brief suggestion
of what I should do
with my memory
where, if anywhere,
I should put my pictures
of what once were glorious hills
but are now this close
to becoming
the tiled roofs
of three-bedroom homes,
the bourgeois garages and
concrete driveways
of the middle class.
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