written by: John Grey
The movie house marquee is devoid of coming attractions.
Nothing’s been on its way for as long as I can remember.
The bench outside the shuttered hardware is empty.
The old men who once held court there
have gone the way of one-of-a-kind stores.
Those are train tracks crossing Main Street.
But they’re not in active service.
And, these days, in few memories.
At least the bakery’s still open.
The muffins are fresh.
The donuts are plain.
And they’ll frost you a cake
phrased with anything you like,
even “Andy loves Roy.”
Every stroll through the old town
is like a walking tour –
of the past, the present.
But there’s no future on display.
Unless, of course, you give the crafts place
another year at most.
But there’s still folks out strolling,
stopping to chat or stare in windows.
Even the vacant ones
if windy hair needs fixing.
Sure, five miles down the road,
there’s a big box store
that’ll sell you just about anything.
But the walk is from your car across the parking lot.
There’s nothing for nostalgia to work with.
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