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
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.
Where is its youth?
Oppressed and glitzed by this tempest of cold steel and creviced asphalt
spider webbing the streets-
while the elderly shake withered fists
full of rum-washed memory
toward the Speedway in
now another notch in her rustbelt.
–––– Jonathan Renfield