We’re prepping the land

for the next generation

knocking down the brick walls

and excavating the basements

pulling low-center of gravity

concrete chunks out by the roots

and dumping soil back into the hole.

We’re playing favorites

saving the perfect circles

and the best perfumes

rolling them up into satchels

and dropping them off at each


Frederick Law Olmsted planned it out

the great rolling lawns

ornamental lakes

the granite stairs

and the public urinals

fronted by gold-leafed capitals

this central park is empty

even the squirrels have

gone into social isolation

the only sounds are the bright

yellow backhoes digging trenches

six feet deep

the union rep is haggling overtime

on the phone “per corpse” he says

“don’t fuck my guys out of their money.”