Poem After May Day

I would prefer

America not be

my name but it is

my name & they

say it in the poem’s

marketplace naming

its stakeholders &

executives even its

eventual dead it is

our name for this

lithium ion battery

this software &

pharmaceutical logo

it is the name of

this lab & classroom

this tower where

I make my cameos

as a face discovered

in a poem’s country

& this afternoon I

walked in the poem

across the pavement

to the dumpster (tiny

cameras all around

me) with black bag

of trash I stared down

into the bin's cosmos

of accidents like a lan

guage tearing thru

with new syntax for

the boxes & other bags

a ruined chair old

Nikes etc. & no

one was out all cars

parked doors shut

the air smelling like

dogwood whatever

this flowering is

the cedar chips

the traces of masked

mail carriers on steps

& I thought I saw

Mercury or Venus

glowing with delay

& I was afraid

all this was paid

for & soon to be

nothing more than

another poem’s

currency a scattered

coin lost inside America

where the names are not

the names the images

are trapped & nothing

not even the poem

lets you go