Baedeker: Balkhash Poem by Richard George

We smelt a copper road from Samarkand.
Cloud-capped chimneys
fire eagles to swoop on our lungs.
Remember first term,
when you cowered soldering?

And how are you going to get here, Marco Polo?
We are bookended by sand and vulcanized clay.
There is no main line, no airport
and you failed your test. Twice.

I doubt Kubla Coleridge shared needles.
And 'Absolut' - forget it.
Bootleg crunches glass into your eyes.

That scimitar of fishpond -
as every map-raker knows,
half fresh, half NaCl -
is wreathed with Silk Cut and sodden gossamer.
They should twin us with Margate.

turquoise
crystal resignation

none will quarry