I wear flannel, wool flannel
sometimes over a long-sleeved tie dye
I live in a mythical pocket of the northwest
everything but my shoes could be from 50 years ago
my car runs on gas, my house runs on dammed river
when I’m gone my house will be replaced by a 4-plex
the school across the street will be even more confused
the mile away freeway will have so many complaints
drivers will close their eyes and have their cars on autonomous
so they don’t have to see what they’re driving through
it won’t be an earthquake or rising tides that kill my town
but everyone moving here to escape heat, drought and AI land barons
Mt. Hood will still be visible, occasionally venting steam
as the seismic plates are already in motion
seismic plates of capitalism, of political and climate migration
of global war over resources and humanity’s unevolved need
for a pecking order, while Gaia’s immune system
intensifies with unprecedented weather, famine and viruses
someone else might be wearing my wool shirts
no one will be reading this
--
Dan Raphael’s last two books are In the Wordshed (Last Word Press, ’22) and Moving with Every (Flowstone Press, ’20.) More recent poems appear in Umbrella Factory, Concision, Brief Wilderness, Packingtown and Unlikely Stories. Most Wednesdays Dan writes and records a current events poem for The KBOO Evening News.