On the Boulevard
Preparations for a hanging–
executioners in shirtsleeves, a scaffold stage,
an audience of kids in boater hats and sailor whites,
their radiant and mutely cheering mothers.
I’d ask you here to uncover your eyes
and look again, but you’ve yet to look away,
knowing the condemned is just a cornerstone,
our capitol a riot of construction.
The pulley in its scaffold cage
Snaps the stone into its slot. I’m afraid,
by now, if we were more callous than we are,
we’d probably be talking Art.