City Fathers
July 23 2008


It was during the renovation
a contractor’s shovel clanged
off the steel box,
surprising us.
A mere 30 years
yet we’d all forgot
— the time capsule,
buried on some grand occasion.
When they were heady with the triumphs of the past,
and the future
was not so certain.

So they sent a time traveller out ahead,
wishing us well
hopeful we would receive them graciously.
And we
— disappointing in our T-shirts and jeans
in place of sleek silver suits, all the same,
as befit the future earthlings —
giddily unearthing
this treasure chest.

Some reel-to-reel tape
— dignitaries making speeches, I suspect.
Kindergarten art work,
none of whom became the next Picasso
we can now be sure.
And the paper, that day.
Apparently, it was mostly sunny
chance of rain.

So 30 years
and nothing much has changed.
Except how unworthy we must seem
to those small-town boosters,
who believed
they had something worth preserving.

No one could come-up with anything else to add,
so we re-sealed the box
and launched the capsule
back to the future.
Where the great thinkers will ponder the past;
baffled
by reel-to-reel tape,
and nostalgic
for a simpler time
of earnest men
and good intentions.