a once promising sight for
freedom, industry, and corn.
The fastest city in the western hemisphere-
Where men from all walks could aspire
to drive in five hundred circles,
chasing the emphatic roar of beer-blooded all-Americans.
Another blur of high-rise industry overshadowing their investments
Between a fury of cold steel and broken asphalt
spider webbing the pockmarked streets
Angry, cold, and poor.
Window bars and reaching ivy tentacles choke derelict buildings,
raised on a steady diet of frozen waste and cheap wine
filtered through the stained jeans of weathered denizens.
while the elderly shake withered fists
full of rum-washed memory
toward the Speedway wrapped about
now another notch in her rustbelt.
–––– Jonathan Renfield