“No chain link fences leapt in a single / bound . . . ” – Marcus Weiher, “Taking Aim at Macy’s Changing Room Mirror, I Blame Television”
No chain link fences in my model town. No clashy “Nice Nails” salon at the highway strip mall; no highway strip mall. No cheap juice bars. No gun shops. No murderously small take-out Phó places. No laughing wiggler inflated-figures at the Jiffy Lube; no Jiffy Lube. No tasteless hamburger joints. No orange highway signs or banana rest stops. No clouds over the cemetery, no ghosts in the candles, no tombs among family gardens, no blurbed asphalt fields. No freeway bypasses, no billboards of lust, no tarantula arrests of speeders, no conquering maladies.
My model town is a carpet of forest, a silver ribbon of waterway, a rare-gem dot of a lake. The birds nest in the piled-up sword fern fronds. Pollinators graze the gently upturned flowers. It is nighttime almost as much as it is daytime.
And I stroll rapturously among the gently draping fronds of sword ferns.