National Park by Jonathan Butcher

This clearing, a pathway for soft breezes,

which smothers unprotected skins 

and cracks heads too muffled by this lack

of noise, which fits uncomfortably with 

our current predicament.

Crushed hawthorns crawl over discarded

bottles and clothing, a false sense of serenity

which barely covers the entrance fee 

for a heritage we never truly trusted.

A view of this landscape, bearing ancient 

stains of bile and smog, a slow crest 

of sunlight which reflects from these 

hills offering the illusion of backhanded

ownership.

The jagged rocks in mock circles,

dug up and replaced by the bored gentry, 

trip us up with each step, our pockets

emptied at their behest, with never

a single word of thanks uttered. 

Jonathan Butcher has had poetry appear in various print and online publications including 

The Morning Star, Cajun Mutt Press Mad Swirl, The Rye Whiskey Review, Picaroon Poetry, Popshot, 

Sick lit and others. His fourth chapbook 'Turpentine' was published by Alien Buddha Press. He is also the editor 

of the online poetry journal Fixator Press.