THE GREEN HOUSE

The landscape hung its laundry
across the sky
in a sagging line of colors,
baking in the afternoon heat.

White birds
caromed off undergarments,
desperate for wind.

Many dreamed an electric fan
would appear in the sky
to chop the heat in two
with its dull blades.

But for five hundred years,
there's been no electric fan,
only a toaster oven,
a busted turkey broiler,
the oven mitts we wear
as hats to market
where things are bought
and sold
in units of wind.

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