I moved away, several times in fact The new still feeling the same As though Columbus had already arrived
Again; smoggy sunset evenings painted iridescent All of which they had long ago decided To trade for blue.
Strangers became neighbors. Friends With a different view Would say to me,
It never used to be this way.
Some spoke of concrete Growing in the night And the iron jaws
Contracted to eat away-- Gluttonous appetites devouring What history survived
The marsh lands gone under an echo Of red parking lights and Java neon And I hear them say,
It never used to be this way.
And what of the farmers’ rows? A beauty smelling Of plastic and carbon blue. As the awnings Hold hands with yellow lines and stare out at you.
But I thought it fine – as I look around Quiet. Polished. Available. Conveniently dead. When I return to my home town
I catch myself taking it all in And still disbelieving. I feel myself say,
It never use to be to be this way.