Sitting at the red light at a quarter past three,
Seemingly the sun has set fire to Main Street.
A familiar buzz of laugher and rubber soles
Slapping blacktop, bees are buzzing, summer is alive.
Today I notice everything, even how the stop sign
On the corner of Frank Street bends into itself,
The paint peeling from it’s edges like plastic.
I spy an elderly couple, shovels in their hands,
Jeans rolled up, they govern mother nature
In her flowerbeds, an atmosphere of southern demise.
Today the sun is scorching, this small town
A proverbial backdropp of mediocre irregularity.
Old people are but peeping toms in a fish bowl,
The rest of us running, running circles across
This miniature boulevard of poverty and crime.
Finally the light changes, the AC spurts to life,
My fingers fumble in vain to find a news-worthy
Radio station, all the while the voice of Billy Graham
Cries of mortality and damnation, he says Jesus is alive.
Stacy Lynn Mar
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/southern-demise/
