Because we’re cultured, dammit.
(this one had me at ‘trees out of a vampire flick’)
GRAVEYARD ON A HILL
Let those who so desire continue to dream
Of heavenly mansions
With their vast chambers and balconies
Awash in the light of a golden afternoon.
I’ll take this January wind, so mean
It permits no other thought
Than the one that acknowledges its presence
Among these weedy tombstones
And these trees out of a vampire flick
Bending to the breaking point
And then straightening up — intact,
With the wind busy elsewhere,
Nudging dead leaves to take a few quick hops
Right up to the branch they fell from.