New Town

I moved to a house

On a dead end street

At the top of a hill

Looming over 

The dark steel mill

That operates 24 hours a day

In 3 shifts

Seven days a week

The ringing and clanging of metal

The banging of machinery

Echoes loudly

Like the bells of the 

Three churches

In this new town

On Sunday mornings.

There is always a wind on my street.

The woods around me

Are filled with deer

Fox, bear and coyote

In fact

True

The deer are so brazen

They often wander the streets

Like pedestrians
Reading the WSJ

At dusk.

I moved to a new town

That is webbed with

Crooked, narrow roads

Cracking the backs

Of steep inclines

And higher ground.

This new town 

Has a Main Street

That is littered 

With empty vodka bottles

Crushed cigarette butts

And shattered dreams.

A dusty tailor

An ancient upholsterer

A thrift store consignment shop

A grimy launderette

Settle in amongst 

The vacant storefronts

Derelict apartments

Nameless blue-collar businesses

Behind sun-faded

Painted concrete blocks and brick

The sidewalk in pieces.

I moved to a new town

Where the most meticulously kept property

Is the funeral home.

It gives me hope.