Last Days in Salt Lake City
Dwarfed by a building that would have delighted
A blonde shape hardens in the bright mist.
It's the Angel Moroni, resplendent in gold drag,
Calling the faithful to shop at the Company
Faces heavy as concrete, catatonic faces,
The lost tribe, getting more and more lost.
The radio says make Jesus your business partner
At 10% and the Christ can suck hind titty.
I came here to muse on a bone in the Jewish
And the banks locked arms with their cousins the
And the last malcontent poet to pass this way
Was detained in front of the wall of a firing
Did you hear that, feet? I won't think less of
If you leap to a hasty conclusion and split for
Collected Poems: 1952-1999, University of
2000. Reprinted by permission of the author.