a once promising sight for
freedom, industry, and corn.
The fastest city in the western hemisphere-
where men from all walks could aspire
to drive in five hundred circles,
chasing the emphatic roar of beer-blooded, all-Americans.
But the city I experienced
was only reminiscent of so many others
Angry, cold, and poor.
Window bars and reaching ivy tentacles choke derelict buildings,
raised on a steady diet of frozen waste and cheap wine
filtered through the stained jeans of weathered denizens.
Where is its youth?
Oppressed by the tempest of cold steel and creviced asphalt
spider webbing the streets.
Ashamed, they cling to a borrowed sense of identity
while the elderly shake withered fists
full of stonewashed memory
toward the Speedway.
now another notch in her rustbelt.
–––– Jonathan Renfield