Pound of Pasta

by Verne Alan Carter
In Utah
In utah hath no man an igloo of nice ice
each block cut cool and frosty fitting
that snowflakes might smother their face,
in utah
hath no man a painted swing on his porch wall
spittoon and whittlestick
or where bookie receiveth message
and halo projects from indecision,
in utah
seeth no man safe speeds
no engine is made to endure nor to live with
but it is made to race and race quickly
in utah, sin against Shoshoni,
is thy bread ever more bitter of salt
is thy bread brittle as cactus,
with no whole dough, no gravy bowl
in utah the tick grows thick
in utah is no clear throughway
and no man can find site for his camper.
Sailor is kept from his sail
whaler is kept from his whale
cargo comes not to port
ship bringeth no gain in utah
Utah is a murrain, utah
blindeth the gull with desert sand
and stoppeth the spider’s spinning. Frank Sinatra
came not by utah
Koufax came not by utah
nor Joe DiMaggio; Yogi Berra not by utah
nor was perfect game pitched.
Came not by utah Graziano; came not Capone,
Came no blade of cut steel carved: Requiescat in Pace.
Not by utah Lollobrigida
Not by utah New Hampshire,
Utah rusteth the tractor
It rusteth the realtor and the John Deere dealer
It scorneth the subway in the track
None learneth to graffiti by her pattern;
Rain hath a rancor in utah; salt is unshakered
Oil findeth no Rockefeller
Utah slayeth the rookie in the Rocky
It stayeth the young man’s snorting
It hath brought Mormon to bed, lyeth
between the young brides and their bridegroom
They have brought whores for Bonneville
Buzzards banquet on babies
at behest of utah.