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.”

Published by

Cynthia M. Sheward

Cynthia Sheward has written poetry since she was a child. She was born in Massachusetts but spent her young life in New Jersey. She applied her English degree from Arcadia University teaching junior-senior high school in Vermont the 70’s. In the 80s, she and her husband built their own house with their own hands in the mountains of North Carolina. In the 90s, she returned to NJ where she worked for a Fortune 500 corporation until her retirement. Her work has been published in Friends Journal, Evening Street, the Bennington Banner, Fiber Arts Magazine, the Mountain Times and various other print media. She currently resides in Jupiter, Florida.

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