We all know where we will be a hundred years from now:
beyond the dailiness of this slow panic
and the fear always present behind the look of denial;

To get to this place, 
you must go through the village which is above.
If you find yourself before the mountain

Hatless, in mocking whiteface, Carl Schurz stands,
tricked by the tempest out of blackest bronze.

His basalt Negroes limp along their frieze:
Bare chested, fetters broken, they take liberties

 

The Rector's picking something from his teeth
(lunch) when I ring his doorbell to inquire
if I might see the church. (He plays it with

If you're thinking of going to Syracuse,
   be modest and do not expect
the bronze warriors of Reggio

They are there in every weather
in my imagination,
as they were in the mountain town

A lovely suburban colonial,
built in the 1950s
(that era of civil defense)
had a bomb shelter in the basement

They have come from dinner at the nearest new restaurant—
you know the kind: bottle glass in the window,
brass rails, and a fanciful line of red neon