As the Culture Dies, its Arts Become Trash

The cannibalized corpse of a car sits on the street.
I see it from my kitchen window. Metaphor for
Art, I say. The neighborhood, once posh, now
Reeks of urine. All is in decay. The old
Apartment buildings' bricks aren't red.
They're black, their ground-floor windows
Boarded up, their stair steps cracked.
Another metaphor; let's call the neighborhood
The dying West. That car, art, quite clearly
Suits it, being more an eyesore, more
A thing that, in its uselessness, resembles
Cars which once were here, but can't do
What they did.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 52 times
Written on 2020-01-14 at 21:43

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