The old, gay, bohemian ghetto in Seattle is getting torn down to make way for million dollar condominiums to house the twenty something computer geek millionaires that infect this place.

Breakfast on a Stormy Day In the Boho Zone

Water picked up
In the south pacific fell
In big soaking drops
Noisily in the street.

The wind rattled the trees
And tore the posters
Half off the telephone pole
To flap in the breeze
Like wounded birds.

Fashionable young things
Struggled with rebellious umbrellas
As they crossed the street in
Ridiculous shoes.

The sky was full
Of cranes and steel clouds
But no birds
And the buildings
That weren't being built
Were being demolished
Or waiting quietly,
Heads bowed,
To be demolished.

The Comet Tavern
Was closed, sleeping off
Yet another late night.
But the Odd Fellows
Was open smelling
Of decay like my grand parents
Brooklyn apartment.

As I sat in a cafe
Drinking strong coffee,
Eating scrambled eggs
An old timer came in
His bald head, his face
Covered in tattoos.

The neighborhood
Won't last long now
I never thought I would miss it
But I already do.

A green garbage truck
Rolls slowly by.

Poetry by Budart
Read 987 times
Written on 2013-02-22 at 21:27

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We, humans, are wrecking the world block by block. You've caught that. I hope the eggs were good, we have to learn to appreciate what we can, it isn't all bad, but the trend certainly is headed in that direction. The old neighbors go, replaced by something generic. It isn't the twenty-somethings falt, it isn't anyone's fault, it's just life. It goes on, and it doesn't care.

The sadness and nostalgia are palpable. It's not only the bricks and mortar, the whole character of the place and it's people go, irreplaceable,. Rebellious umbrellas, I like that.

It seems that America has always been the land of disposables. Cell phone on the blink--throw it in the trash and buy a new one. Think them historical homes are ruining your view? Tear 'em down.

This is a very skillfully composed and powerful poem.


Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
The first three stanzas of this poem brought me back to town. Thanks. I used to live on Pike Street, just down from the Comet. Are they trashing Capital Hill? Damn.

France England
A true picture of what words can say if spoken by the right poet. I've been to Seattle several time; Queen Anne area mostly. I loved the place, why? I really don't know. I understand Freemont was at one time the poets hub? Anyway you paint a view that is what is off the Pacific west coast. Great write

Humans are the only species that measures progress by what we destroy. Very evocative poem, and all too true of all too many places.