From a highway
cut like a ledge
in the mountain
we descend
through clouds
of foliage until
we see white steeples
and the promise of
the old coal town
of her youth
below.

We land on
a faded movie set
of a down town,
where even the graffiti
is beaten of bravado
and the gauntlet of
Norman Rockwell storefronts,
empty as the milk carton
skittering along the gutter are

FOR SALE . . . FOR RENT . . . FORECLOSED . . . FOREVER

© by Tony Gruenewald.
Used with the author's permission.