Tone Poem

Kids play tag among moribund shipping
Containers. I watch from a distance,
An old man who plods the damp streets
Of the harbor's less prosperous side.
There's a bar on the corner, a weathered
Brick church down the way, looming
Over some disabled cars. Every house
Here needs something, new paint or
A roof, and the people within them
Seem, likewise, in need. We can see
How the busier side of the harbor thrives
As ours suffers a lingering death. There's
A pall on this place, though it rises a little
As I watch the children play tag.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 33 times
Written on 2021-10-18 at 17:42

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