Devil’s Lake

The term is “dark,” not closed, as though

this white screen looming through locust, sumac

merely abides, suspended above

the tree-penetrated parking lot. Today's feature:

only faint shadows in the sun—

film blanc. Gone, the new In-A-Car speakers.

Adjust volume to suit yourself.

Instead, inescapable soundtrack: the Doppler

traffic of Highway 20, crescendo, fade,

crescendo—this familiar story. Girl trespasses

scratching for clues, finds

abandoned ruins. The projection building

and concession stand, now a concrete slab

amongst wild strawberry, yarrow, goldenrod.

I'm the audience for this plot

of land. Once, there was no need to leave your car

at any time. Because climbing out is how you

get in trouble—the weeds wrap around you,

dogs snarl off screen, sirens whine by.

Across the road, someone's cut down the woods

to make a vacant lot.

No place can disappear.

2 shows nightly rain or clear.

The first, romance and adventure:

a storm passes through, men unite,

a hero swoops in to save the little town.

The second, futuristic epic:

dot of girl alone in brushy field,

strange monolith crumbling, a star-studded

glimpse of the end of the world.