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That hot chick Maria Teresa/Asked a feller from lower East Mesa/If he’d like to get nasty./”Too iconoclasty.”/She said, “Wow, now I need a cerveza.”

A couple who lived in Surprise/Made a feast of six blackberry pies/And with bellies that strained/And their teeth badly stained/Caused a neighbor to holler, “MY EYES!!”

Far westward of Route 303/Was a Buckeye lad needing to pee./He dropped trou and drained ocean/Saying, “Please, no commotion–/Since it’s Live Free or Die, I felt free!”

In Scottsdale, In Old Town, a punk/On a scooter veered close to a monk./”You WANK!” cried the Brother./”What ho! It’s another/Yank-Dodger encounter! Who’da thunk?”

When riding the Metro Light Rail/You’ll see Freak Shows aplenty, and sail/Through the circles of Hell/In malodorous swell/When the babies and saxophones wail.

in 1958 a family of five/one infant two toddlers/and a heart-tuggingly young couple/moved from the Los Angeles megalopolis/to arizona’s valley of the sun/and bought a house that hadn’t quite been built yet/with saplings in front yard and back/and a floor plan identical or mirror-imaged/to thousands of those that would surround them

dirt roads got graded/old barns torn down/and concrete and asphalt were poured across an expanse/of former farmland

it was called the baby boom/and it made housing developer john f. long his fortune

aerial photography over midvalley over this fervent time/showed the valley residences spreading like a fungus/or an aboveground ant colony/growing everywhere but especially west

phoenix population more than doubled/glendale’s went up by an order of magnitude/and peoria and buckeye and avondale and points west o my

and we made stuff up as we went along/not as blazingly as the pioneers of a century back/but valiantly enough here and there

it doesn’t quite feel like history when you live it/but looking back/at all the violence and miracle and new language/wow

i make my home in metropolitan phoenix, arizona/also known as the valley of the sun

one day i flew home from boulder, colorado,/which was lush and green/and it struck me that by comparison/phoenix was like the bottom of an ashtray

you will find green on some golf courses/and some lushly maintained gated communities/but the mountains trap the pollution in a sprawling shallow bowl/and a hike up piestewa peak will reveal/the thin soup we breathe

i love my valley anyway/and my own hair has turned quite gray/and it does not make me too blue/to think that I’m an ashtray too

001

Brick and Mortar, and equivalents thereof, are fine in moderation. Are we as a species moderate? An Internet search on Dubai buildings will provide a fun answer. Not that I’m knocking Dubaians and their innovative excess. If I had more money than I knew what to do with, Cutting-Edge Architecture would be a great place to throw it.

But Urban Sprawl, made possible by that “I claim this land in the name of Spain” mindset that is this-century obsolete, made of the Valley of the Sun where I grew up a fungus of humanity, spreading up and over the mountains every which way, and far beyond the Valley’s borders. “Brick & Mortar” is now recognized as a largely unnecessary venue for business. Let us move on.

Here are the words to the double acrostic, making Ands of the ampersands for the sake of clarity:

Bursting out- and upward, our explosive growth goes boom
Reaching for the brass ring’s old–we charge like raging sumo
Instant towers scrape the sky where once was merest rumor
Clearing forests calls for disregard of owl and wombat
Keeping books reduces Life to uptick and pro rata
Andes-climbing’s easier than knowing what should matter