Small Town Eyes

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.