Small Town Eyes

by Rochelle Cunningham
© 2008


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.