In the After

maybe shredded ad ribbons will still chatter
discolored in a distant wind
making some doe stop - ears tall
like radio towers

maybe a hoof or paw or claw
will land soft on a weapon
threaded by grass and rust
but move on
never troubled by what it’s done
or even why

maybe ants will march proud
in formation over cracked asphalt
unafraid of shadows
that once came crushing down

maybe some stonesteel cenotaph
will at last come surging down, spilling
birds like black marbles
clattering over blue tile
a final reminder
people will always do harm


David Tadeo was born in Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic in 1994. He moved to Florida at a young age and is inspired by the strangeness of being caught between two places and cultures.