Exhausted Monuments Poem by Hans Ostrom

Our monuments are weary.

They want to quit their jobs.

They hate fronting for history.

They like birds, rain, sunshine,

and snow because all four

play in the present.



Our monuments want to travel

abroad to meet other monuments.

Some days they just want

to break apart to become

the abstract and liberated

art of rubble.



On monument told me it

simply feels in the way,

heavy, ridiculous. It

stands there shilling

for something people

who have either forgotten

or want to forget what lies

behind the monument,

which wants only to support

birds, darken for rain,

shine for sun, change

shape with snow.





hans ostrom 2020