Fremont to Columbus

These towns along the Loup and Platte
Look pretty much the same. Four rails,
No less, not often more, run through
Their centers, elevators, filled with grain,
Beside them. Each one has a white wood
Lutheran church, its skinny steeple visible
Above the ranks of ancient trees which line
The streets. The downtowns all look worn
And sorry. Red brick buildings which were
Stores stand empty, windows boarded over.
One will have the local bar. Another,
Maybe once a bank, will offer meals
To men and women nearly so old as the
Trees. No younger people will be seen,
Except inside the bar, where doughy
Farmers and their doughy wives sit
Drinking, jackets on. It's hard to know
Which town you're in, so why would
I move up the Platte to this one from
Where I had been? Someone I cannot
Bear to see's not here.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 65 times
Written on 2016-02-21 at 23:04

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text