You trimmed your shop window
with a thousand origami cranes
folded in blue, red, and yellow.
You expect this flock to suggest
that peace might break out sooner
than later, the flickering wars
on three continents snuffing
and their ashes blowing away.
I try a photo but reflections
of the bank across the street
and passing cars and pickups
muddle the crisp flight of birds.
The bank looks officious today,
responding to your frankly
socialist vision with a sneer
of brick and peeling wood trim.
The bustling vehicles ignore
your display because running
the stop sign requires focus.
Once I counted for a few minutes
the drivers who stopped and those
who blasted right through without
owning the right of way: five
scofflaws for each one that stopped.
You think your floodlit aviary
can discipline the human race?
The cranes beat against the tide
of indifference, their colors blazing,
but their living figures droop
with a thousand years of exhaustion
imported from Japan before
atomic warfare began.
