WASHINGTON: PAST

Like little soldiers
themselves, schoolgirls line up for
history lessons.

The star made by the
intersecting sidewalks sheds
light on the dark tomb.

A block of windows,
tall, rectangular, backdrops
the tomb like a flag.

Individual
trees twist, weep alone, in like
anonymity.

An exposed toilet
and sink flout modernity;
city life invades.

WASHINGTON: PRESENT

Cache of protesters
hold vigil, hoping for no
more unknown soldiers.

It almost seems like
there are more dogs than people
enjoying the green.

Washington has been
eroded, perched on by birds,
but still he stands tall.

Flags flap in tandem,
more orderly than the kids
at play on the grass.

I worry about
the plastic flowers and the
eternal pyre.

By ARIELLE BROUSSE