Watchtower Dan Schwallie

There is a water tower on the mount, Above the wall arboreal, dark, and high, Atop which one is, by my latest count, One hundred footsteps nearer to the sky. The train that winds its way below me roars; The neon signs across the valley gleam. They join the brilliant floodlights of the stars In color shimm'ring through the fact'ries' steam. And yet, up close, the view can just incite My nausea at that putrid upscale mall, Where crêpes Suzette and cargo shorts cast light In order to distract me, make me fall. That lovely iridescence makes me sick; I'd best climb down before I break my neck.

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