“And I awoke, and found me here.”
–Keats
High-density polyethylene
encapsulates my underfloor
of red Virginia clay
and pale as snow a scene
that never was supposed before
but now is near today.
You'll fit in there, should that befall,
where bugs no longer crawl.
If you go out and look, for dread,
you'll mind a heap of hope.
Not expecting the unexpected?
It's at the door,* you dope!
Now only Tree of Heaven† buds.
Scant future's left to drain.
2,4-D's‡ murdering our studs,
and bugs no longer plane.
Luck favors the lucky,
or those with half a brain.
But things will soon get mucky.
Best come in from that rain!
*Cf. Joe Orton, What the Butler Saw: “Just when one least expects it, the unexpected always happens.”
†Tree-of-Heaven = Ailanthus altissima. Also called "Tree of Hell."
An earlier, very different version of this poem appeared in the New English Review in February 2023.