159
"But now the sport is marred, and wot ye why?
Fishes decrease, and fishers multiply."
-- john weever
xvi
The End of Something
I have come here late in the day.
Now the light is failing, and
What I've just seen's the dead
gleam of aluminum,
The shape of something, across
a half mile of chaparral,
Up near the lovely pool
where the snake was drinking.
When the end of something comes, often
the signal is ironically
Slight. Goodbye Matilija.
By the time I reach it --
It's a house trailer, laundry
fl ying on a line
Strung on the low bluff
above the pool --
I have passed two others,
assorted bulldozers,
Dump trucks, trench-diggers....
Nothing is ours,
Matilija, I well know.
How often though