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Rita Dove's Broadside

$60

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16

"Silos"

Like martial swans in spring paraded against the city sky's

shabby blue, they were always too white and

suddenly there.

They were never fingers, never xylophones, although once

a stranger said they put him in mind of Pan's pipes

and all the lost songs of Greece. But to the townspeople

they were like cigarettes, the smell chewy and bitter

like a field shorn of milkweed, or beer brewing, or

a fingernail scorched over a flame.

No, no, exclaimed the children. They're a fresh packet of chalk,

dreading math work.

They were masculine toys. They were tall wishes. They

were the ribs of the modern world.