Saturday, September 10, 2022

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

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.

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