“Elevation,” a Poem by Lindsay Turner

3 days ago 1

Cars connected a foggy roadworthy astatine night

We drove up the upland astatine night.
Something was wrong.
A miasma, a existent miasma, you’d say.
The chickenhearted farms franchise themselves
until they capable the land.
The stink.

We drove up to a waterfall successful daylight.
Something was wrong, adjacent successful the recreation place.
A existent miasma—oh marvelous, they say
watching the h2o file, filing down
and down to hazy lowlands.
The spray, particulate.

At nighttime again and home.
Something is ever wrong.
A miasma. Pause. Something is wrong, nary 1 says,
because we’re each polite with 1 another.
Oncoming lights successful fog retired connected the road, past nothing.
Unhappy, the women person bought excessively overmuch again.
The discontent, humid and chirping.

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Middle Slope