We must hate our parents And ourselves We Americans, driven To erase all trace of our, and their, progress On the landscape. Each site, landmark, seen As a blank canvas. What is this need? Is each strike of the wrecking ball an expression of relief or regret? Failure or success? Our hubris must Be bravado for the isolation Felt by us all, masked By blacktop tar and spewing cars, belching Backhoes. Abandoned cities and conquered farms. Past Civilizations left their mark, indomitable Signs of their culture, loves, treasures, wants, hopes. What will archaeology reveal of us? Land wiped Clean of history. Lives Wiped clean of memories. Nothing To show where we came from Or where we went.