National Poetry Month - #3

I don't know much about this post's poet, James W. Hall.  I do know that in addition to poetry he has had essays and novels published.  But that's about it.

The poem I want to share was sent to me back when I was teaching.  Someone in my district sent out a daily poem in April, and I really liked this one.  But to be frank, I still have a hard time explaining why.  It's not necessarily a pretty poem.  The visuals created aren't pleasant.  And I don't have a personal experience that really ties me to it.  But every time I read it, I enjoy it. 

And to me, that's part of what makes poetry wonderful.  I don't have to be able to explain why I like it or why I think it deserves to be shared {at least now that I'm out of school, I don't.  Ha!}.  My experience with the poem is mine.

So now I invite you to have your own experience.  And I'm curious to find out if you like it or not and can express why in better terms than I can.  If you feel so inclined, leave me a comment after you read it.

White Trash
by James W. Hall

Now it's styrofoam pellets
that blow across the yard.
They settle in the new grass
like the eggs of Japanese toys.
It's a kind of modern snowing.

The boy next door opened a box,
took out the precious present
and shook these white spun plastic
droplets into the wind.
It's how his family thinks.

Hundred of them. Shaped like
unlucky fetuses or the brains
of TV stars.
Now they burrow in the lawn,
defy the rake, wriggle like the toes
of the shallow buried.

They'll be there when we're gone.
Bright tumors, rooted in the dark.
Crowding the dirt. Nothing makes them
grow. But nothing kills them either.