“The Petrified Forest” ©1993/2020 by Randy Kaplan

I went to the Petrified Forest yesterday.
I drove many miles out of my way.
The ranger at the station said I had to pay.
It was just five dollars, so I said, Okay.

She handed me a pamphlet and a map and a receipt.
I put them with my other maps on the passenger seat.
I drove towards the giant logs in the Arizona heat.
I rolled up my windows, and I got out on my feet.

I walked through the museum. There was a dinosaur.
I walked along the trails outside. There were families taking tours.
Parents read the pamphlets to the children, who were bored.
Yes, they were in the forest but not of their own accord.

The Painted Desert beckoned, so I got back in my van.
I passed by the Indian ruins in the sand.
All the senior citizens had cameras in their hands.
The visitor center gift shop was the next thing they had planned.
You're not allowed to take one rock from the sacred land.

You see, millions of years ago in the Triassic age,
the trees were killed and swept by swollen streams to the flood plain.
Volcanic ash and mud cut off their air, slowed their decay.
Sounds like a vacation to the forests of today.

I’ve walked among the ancient trees—they're dead and deified.
And I’ve breathed with the breathing trees who have no place to hide.
Every living thing has fear, and nothing's scared that's died.
So all the living forests of the Earth are petrified.
Yes, all the living forests of the Earth are petrified.

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