Church & Front: A Street Poem

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;

Never-minding, ever-standing,

Forever watching.

Church and Front.

Forever – always! – A wonderfully confusing street.

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