A Salute

Fry Boulevard

In Sierra Vista, the cars wend past
The old Junior High.

Over the mountains a blimp
tracks drug runners and border crossers.

(The making of security is the business of
drones.)

Here and there the homeless have arrived:
mostly men clothed in khaki or green.

I don't know how to believe in
this place where

Retirees from the Midwest and military
consort among themselves with great friendliness

And I palliate my distress
with cantering flames.