WILD HORSES

Las Vegas. How glorious.
It’s a hot diggity dog free-for-all.
No planning, no zoning – 
            dump it all out there
            on dry-as-a-bone high desert,
                      a pawnshop, car-wash heaven.

Million dollar-gated communities rest flush against
junked car yards with razor wire fences,
            graffitied underpasses and washed out arroyos
            with undocumented poverty up the                          
                      wazoo.

In the middle of which someone has dropped
a statute of liberty, a sphinx and a pyramid
            stitched together by a roller coaster -
                      “Oh, say can you see!"
 
People flock here to drop millions.

 
“They’ve shipped the wild horses north.” The park ranger told me.
            “They couldn’t survive here.”