By Catherine McGuire
In the cinder block and tin roof part of town,
the passersby wear dungaree jackets,
wool caps with holes, battered boots.
They hunch, hands jammed in pockets;
no Gucci bags, no gleaming Nikes.
This is the salvage side of town, cheap cafes
with egg and toast breakfasts washed down
with scorch-your-throat coffee, black.
No lattes, no scones. The sky presses down,
its gray leaking onto buildings grimed by years,
fitted and retrofitted with desperate ventures that bloomed
then faded. Generations of ambition died here.
This is the lonely side of town;
the borders are vague – you could stumble in
before you knew it.
Catherine McGuire is a writer/artist with a deep concern for our planet’s future, with five decades of published poetry, six poetry chapbooks, a full-length poetry book, Elegy for the 21st Century, a SF novel, Lifeline and book of short stories, The Dream Hunt and Other Tales. Find her at www.cathymcguire.com
Hot Pot Magazine 