A Mundane Mountain
Up hill and down dale our automobile
sped south on a four-lane, rolling
on fat rolls of air, as if merrily,
or pensively, or in whatever mood
pervaded the capsule we bunched inside of
as unmoving movers, while all variety
of solid things that occupy our planet
were rushing by, disappearing as soon
as they appeared, objects we’ve listed
according to mineral, vegetable, animal
categories for illustrative details
and the pleasurable noise of words,
but during this trip we were in another
mood, so when a tall hill loomed up,
almost a mountain, rising implausibly
alone from the monotonous plain,
a desultory discourse ensued--
hill or mountain? mountain or hill?
when does a pond become a lake?
a cove a bay? are there numbers,
or do owners decide?—we asked
the always mellifluously neutral voice
in the dashboard that told us where to go,
but like our therapists she just asked
the question back at us every time.
White speckles that twitched or wiggled
up or down its steep sides gave it away
that what towered before us was all garbage,
reaching higher than the great pyramid
of Giza, with seagulls and plastic sacks,
indistinguishable one from the other,
flapping in a steady breeze. Slowing down
to take in this anomalous attraction
while squalling car horns gave us a chuckle
as they swerved past us, we could see
a yellow bulldozer made miniature
by distance crawling up a zig-zag road
to the summit of what we now considered
a mountain, and we were reminded
of the bright yellow toy dump truck
we’d seen some miles back, lying on its side
in a mud puddle before a mobile home,
dropped when a spirit of play had left a child
who went inside to play games on a screen,
and when the dozer had finally ascended
so another could descend a debate arose
whether people who think up live
richer lives than people who think down.
Crouching down to peer up through car
windows, we saw where at a certain plateau
a breeze became a wind that stirred to life
random whirly-gigs of dusty detritus
that swirled in curls like diaphanous scarves
flung aloft in flamboyant dance,
while in airy blue above it all black specks
were wheeling in one vast slow circle,
as if one invisible force stirred the cosmos
like a simmering stew, from dusty motes
to gigantic stars. And while the front seat
discussed why poor people who buy
children toys but neglect teeth rotted
by soda pop at meals shouldn’t have kids,
the back seat considered the vulture,
stately in lofty flight, ugly in disheveled strut
upon discarded carrion. Is anything mean
in nature, we wondered? By this time
the mountain was a hill in the rearview
and our hurtling square of universe
grew quiet since none of us would admit
we didn’t know what mean meant.
sped south on a four-lane, rolling
on fat rolls of air, as if merrily,
or pensively, or in whatever mood
pervaded the capsule we bunched inside of
as unmoving movers, while all variety
of solid things that occupy our planet
were rushing by, disappearing as soon
as they appeared, objects we’ve listed
according to mineral, vegetable, animal
categories for illustrative details
and the pleasurable noise of words,
but during this trip we were in another
mood, so when a tall hill loomed up,
almost a mountain, rising implausibly
alone from the monotonous plain,
a desultory discourse ensued--
hill or mountain? mountain or hill?
when does a pond become a lake?
a cove a bay? are there numbers,
or do owners decide?—we asked
the always mellifluously neutral voice
in the dashboard that told us where to go,
but like our therapists she just asked
the question back at us every time.
White speckles that twitched or wiggled
up or down its steep sides gave it away
that what towered before us was all garbage,
reaching higher than the great pyramid
of Giza, with seagulls and plastic sacks,
indistinguishable one from the other,
flapping in a steady breeze. Slowing down
to take in this anomalous attraction
while squalling car horns gave us a chuckle
as they swerved past us, we could see
a yellow bulldozer made miniature
by distance crawling up a zig-zag road
to the summit of what we now considered
a mountain, and we were reminded
of the bright yellow toy dump truck
we’d seen some miles back, lying on its side
in a mud puddle before a mobile home,
dropped when a spirit of play had left a child
who went inside to play games on a screen,
and when the dozer had finally ascended
so another could descend a debate arose
whether people who think up live
richer lives than people who think down.
Crouching down to peer up through car
windows, we saw where at a certain plateau
a breeze became a wind that stirred to life
random whirly-gigs of dusty detritus
that swirled in curls like diaphanous scarves
flung aloft in flamboyant dance,
while in airy blue above it all black specks
were wheeling in one vast slow circle,
as if one invisible force stirred the cosmos
like a simmering stew, from dusty motes
to gigantic stars. And while the front seat
discussed why poor people who buy
children toys but neglect teeth rotted
by soda pop at meals shouldn’t have kids,
the back seat considered the vulture,
stately in lofty flight, ugly in disheveled strut
upon discarded carrion. Is anything mean
in nature, we wondered? By this time
the mountain was a hill in the rearview
and our hurtling square of universe
grew quiet since none of us would admit
we didn’t know what mean meant.
