Queen Anne Hill

Creatures of our twilit time, we sit in
Chinese folding chairs atop the roof
Of what had been a hospital.. It isn't
Now. It's an investment someone's
Made, an empty hulk to be demolished,
Condos put up in its place, to bring in
Snots who crave a view, and price out
Clerks and fishermen, who've held this
Hill since Viet Nam, or earlier. It's hard
To tell. Their kids have grown. Their jobs
Are gone. A check comes from the
Government each month. It doesn't
Go too far. The curbs, once thick
With chrome-toothed mammoths,
Manufactured in Detroit, are occupied
By German cars. They're what these
Data jockeys and the money shufflers
All prefer. The cafe's gone. A bistro's
There. The world, once the oyster
Of the clerks and fishermen, has been
Bequeathed to richer others. My
Friend Mike, a painter, and yours
Truly, one more shitty poet, gaze
Out from our folding chairs. We're
Out-of-date bohemians, who
Scandalized the proper proles,
Who drop like autumn leaves
These days. The condo snots
Just sneer at us. They hate how
We can keep the hospital from
Being battered down. We have
The rooftop and the view they
Wish that we could not afford.
We shrug and drink, and do our
Best to savor twilit time.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 66 times
Written on 2016-05-16 at 00:51

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