As time locked as the ancient land
This 60’s outpost confronts our senses.
Iron spears of gate supports, steel boomerang
Announces to all this place.
White painted tires hold rugged desert plants.
Hands held to mouths cover snickers and smiles.
The old building of stone and brick
People within hidden in the old times.
We read the papers on the walls
And wonder how, in a century new begun
Such unpoetic humour can tickle us still
Its brazen bad taste a shock for the new.
A place not of this land
And yet part of a time now gone.
We drive away
And wonder will it last
Or sink into the sands
And become part of another time.

Tim Alderman
(C) 2001