Narrow and saturated
Are the buildings
Of this wonderfully confusing street.
You’d think… Van Gogh swirls
Of passionate color…
A dull sense of comfort in
The white noise of downtown rain and foggy stars
Against an earthy turquoise sky;
But life isn’t quite so breath-taking, gorgeous.
Church and Front –
It’s all in the name:
The Church: a place of blind worship:
If worship was love
And love was dedication,
Then this street has it right.
The Front: a 40s aesthetic
Characterized by its red bricks
And black iron gates –
Progress, pride, humility…
You’d think we’d have moved on, you see,
But this street, with its blank-faced broken clock tower,
Reminds us that humans are too damn nostalgic.
The quirky, crooked building stands bravely in the middle of it all,
Proudly wearing a green Cone-of-Shame.
It’s a disconnected castle tower
Splitting in half a fast paced stream,
A stream of cars
With rufescent tails of light.
The red stoplights sit on stiff black poles,
Paraded like decapitated heads,
Controlling the heavy flow of noisy metal cattle
Glaring through the evening fog
Like the ‘Eyes of God’
Watching the generations
Of us: people out of time.
How many existences, do you think,
Have nervously navigated this three-way,
Observed the strange characters molded
In these café aromas and rainbow gasoline trails,
Bemused by this underrated town?
Because that’s just how it is, isn’t it?
Burning cities like this;
Church and Front.
Forever – always! – A wonderfully confusing street.