Passing Through
I’ve been a lot
of places,
but this land
I grew up knowing
that has suddenly
changed
is by far the
most preposterous
and dismal.
They’ve torn
down the
mountains
and hauled
them away
in big trucks,
and widened
the roads
stretching
miles out of town
to anywhere else.
There’s a menagerie
of gas stations
and fast food
and amenities
designed just for
pit stops
because no one
wants to stay
here anymore
in the town that
used to be a forest,
but now is
nothing but
high gray walls.
5 thoughts on "Passing Through"
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I like the image of hauling the mountains away in big trucks, although I don’t like them doing it. I also like the feeling of “you can’t go home again.” Great poem.
Great work in describing the reality of our changing landscaper
Favorite words: “torn,” “hauled,” “menagerie,” “high gray walls”
. . .in a town that used to be a forest. . . that line stretched beyond your poem could say used to be a desert, used to be a lake, used to be a bay, used to be a meadow and on and on. Man has a lot to answer for.
Good poem. Sad poem. Honest poem.