This is the quintessential American rust belt city, or even American city per say. That means a city drained of what makes a European city so attractive- people out on the streets at all hours and public spaces to walk to and enjoy.
The Lake
Something in me
loves a bus.
Starting at birth.
my father brought me home
in early November snow
on a bus.
There was Marilyn, circa 1956
all Bus Stop glamour,
and in Cleveland,
the sleek Greyhound sign,
recalls Edward Hopper
and the dusty 1930’s.
“You have a blessed day”
the new goodbye as I board
wondering how to do just that.
Ashtabula, Erie, Buffalo
and all points east,
their vowels satisfy.
Something in America
so hates the city,
it bleeds out
a slow death
of the light
and sound
and life
of this lake.
This reminds me of the depressing gray skies I remember as typical of Buffalo winters. From time to time, Mother Nature would throw in a gorgeous cloudless day with the sun shining through crisp, cold air onto clean white snow, and those are the days I prefer to remember.
ReplyDeleteSo... you owe us another poem from one of those days to balance things out!
Yes, there is a beauty to it all! Yesterday going up to Canada saw all the bare tree branches coated in ice and pines heavy with snow. But winter is a long haul.
ReplyDelete