“There's not very much here, I'm afraid,” he says,
“A cathedral, a nice city hall,” and he's right,
In a way. It's a neat little town in the dull part
Of Europe, where trains arrive promptly
And everyone eats. A few blocks of buildings
Which date to the Renaissance circle
A central, cobblestoned square. When
The weather is nice and the lockdowns
Are eased, people sit by the fountain
And children run by. “I'm okay with it.
I suppose you will be bored,” but I'm not.
He should come to see where I must live.
There's no village, just sprawl, no picturesque
Buildings, just lookalike houses and unsightly
Strip malls, and everyone drives. The bulk
Of the land all around has been paved.
I pat his shoulder and tell him sincerely,
“You're lucky to be living here.”

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 22 times
Written on 2021-04-21 at 15:15

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