Obituary of a Mill Town
This is a town of lost dog posters and abandoned cars.
Brick factories watch the dead and dying with cataract windows
Broken out of boredom, machines and breakroom guts
Collecting the grimy residue of neglect and lost stability.
Old men get and stay drunk in taverns before noon,
Dreaming of glasses of rain and new wounds bleeding
They stopped punching clocks, but are far from through
Making their wives cry, for how else can they be sure
That they truly love them.
It’s only when lightning fragments the sky
And September rain falls like penance
That we feel both safe and haunted,
Like the slumbering rabbit
Out of the owl’s reach.
There is a murmured poetry when the streets start to flood
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