An Urban Fable
By R.G. Cantalupo

For awhile, it was Alaska,
the last wilderness, where
the lure of green had us talking,
making plans. We could
save enough after a year to
buy our own home we figured,
somewhere where we could
call the land around us ours.
Not much, just an acre would do.
We'd raise chickens, a cow,
a horse or two, a couple of kids
with her hair and my eyes.
It wouldn't take a lot to be happy.

But for now, we'll punch clocks,
dig ourselves out from under
day by day, come home dog-tired
and drown out the city drums
beating next door by slipping
into the blue light of Discovery —
follow lions trekking caribou,
beavers damming rivers to build
a lodge — we'll stalk the aisles
of food markets later, searching
for what we crave, then slide
into the bed's skin and eat
what's left of the wild still inside.