FRANKLIN: PAST

Some of the branchtops
are razed, keeping heights low and
our virtues modest.

A single lamppost
stands parallel to, shaded
by, the tallest tree.

A handpainted sign
reminds where we are; rather,
we determine it.

Boy in a pagecap
squats in a puddle to drink
from a low fountain.

Industrial clang,
the trolley sounds harmonize
with the soft birdsong.

FRANKLIN: PRESENT

Squirrels and dragons,
the carousel adds worlds
to the park's fauna.

Fountain in full force,
a fine mist exudes even
in the early spring.

A dark iron plaque
recalls the past; joggers with
iPods run past it.

Mini-golf shrinks the
city, recursive, an index
of itself contained.

Everyone has a
camera - no longer enough
just to be somewhere.

By ARIELLE BROUSSE