Rural Road Cairns
A poem by John Howe,
January 12, 2012, page 4.....

How did those twelve bald truck tires find their way
To the pull-off just before the one-at-a-time covered bridge
Above the gorge running quickly and the pines whispering
And so nicely stacked in three columns of four?

Who placed them not just hurled off the truck
But offered like a free pile a kind gesture
“They're yours come and take them mount them
Cut them up for sandals or make planters and swings”

Not quite like trash the washing machine last Spring
Or the pair of white ceramic cracked thrones near the cow meadow
Or the upholstered chair crashed into the copse
More like monuments printed in Hakkapeliitta

A small deposit to remind neighbors about having
And not having enough and of having too much
And having lost so much and having little recourse but
Twelve tires remain cairns in the December mud and ice