The Village

The Village

Through shanty's and unkempt vessels

Seasoned now to lack of use

Grey and weathered

With no shine lift to shimmer

Just the glimpse of a forgotten name

In the haze of a midsummer afternoon

Once worthy, now forgotten

Save for a few dusty shelves

Holding her post cards in once prosperous drug stores

Not that long ago

They would celebrate

And feast upon her return.

Traps...like so many forgotten ghosts

Decorate the homestead's of men who were once called captain

Now painted in colours

Gaudy and overstated

Like men who would woo Shakespeare

On a stage where the feminine would be mocked.

Now reserved for photo ops

In seasonal gift shops

Lawn ornaments

For those who have left for greener seas

Of currency and neon lights.

But Mum and Pop remain

Tending to gardens of granite

From rocking chairs on unsteady verandas

Overlooking the blue

They chose to hang their hat on.