For Dens for Ever

Abandoned ruins these days
Are mostly well-maintained parks,
Archaeological sites,

And tourist destinations.
The world’s so full of people
And people-moving machines,

Even the most disastrous,
Permanently abandoned
Cities, palaces, and forts

Sport brochures and entrance fees
More often than resident
Wild creatures retaking them.

It’s only in the mind’s eye
You can still see the pathos
Of old haunting prophecies

And poems depicting emptied
Towers and weedy courtyards
Sheltering animal dens.

If you’re willing to witness
More modest abandonment,
However, try the high plains

Of rich North America,
Still a global colossus
But pocked with inner failures.

Try the windswept farmhouses
Of Montana, Alberta,
Manitoba, Dakota,

Saskatchewan, and the like.
They loom on grass horizons,
Broken-windowed, tumble-roofed,

One here, one the next county,
Sparse as the melancholy
Their gaunt emptiness evokes.

These you can still see alone
And in front of you, wayside
Ruins where wild creatures den.

Is now more or less fragile
Than any ancient kingdom?
You and your stupid questions.