Not on Trip Advisor
1. The crumbling factory where Wanda lost
her job setting pockets
on coats in 1999. She was one
of the last 55.
2. They boarded up Apex Bank
& moved it to a doublewide
on Broad, a four-lane & the only
street where cars still meander.
3. Evelyn sold her possessions
up North in Ohio. Bought a brick
ranch for $45,000. Cheap
place to retire but closest
grocery is on Star Route 44,
next to the Dollar General, 12
miles away.
4. Roofs of downtown stores caved in
down to the basements. Watch
for occassional rat.
5. In the distance, the steel bones
of a railyard — green gray, reinforced
concrete. Old cars rusted
& empty.
6. Daylight through cracked
windows, fractals
of the lost
era of factories.
7. Be wary of copperheads
in the scruff between collapsing
walls & train tracks, still used.
8. Evelyn sells oils
& watercolors for $20
at the Senior Center. Her oversized
iris looks like a gigantic giraffe
tongue. Old ladies
here still chatter, their blue
tongues wagging.
9. Don’t forget the wooden
door of the former
pool hall where men once joked
& cajoled. Most men
die first around here.
16 thoughts on "Not on Trip Advisor"
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Incredible piece, great concept. Love the “steel bones of the railyard”
i didn’t want this to end!
green grey… a truly timeborn shade.
(hidden) history of our rural decay
Excellent, a sad story well told.
Wow, what a moving poem. The idea of it is so imaginative and the words so evocative – copperheads in the scruff between collapsing walls. I don’t know how you do it, Linda, poem after poem of amazing insight and quality!
I’m going through scraps so to speak. I have fragments of half-finished poems and ideas to test piled around my desk and stored in boxes and often during this month I’ve been pulling from the failures and half-starts and hunkering down to create an actual piece of work. Thanks so much for responding and reading.
Powerful & sad. I feel your roots with Philip Levine flowering in this poem. We need a new bard of forgotten America. Maybe it’s you.
This is modeled after the town I grew up in. I was thinking this morning about how cool it would be to get in the car and go research crumbling towns in person. There are so many and many stories to be told.
Beautiful descriptions that truly capture the death of a small town.
Great idea, great language, great piece, as usual.
I could see a chapbook with these as pillars throughout, zooming in to characters and stories in the poems between ones like this.
So sad, so expertly spun. Who are they all you are drawing this summer? I don’t care whether it is literal truth or not!
This one is the old factory town I grew up in. It’s pretty real but I ended up taking the name of the town out thinking that might make it more universal.
It succeeds
Wow–I love this poem. Well-written and well rendered
You paint such startling pictures with imaginative strokes! Excellent poems this month!
Your title is just perfect for this devastating look at the ruins of a factory town and its workers – and the shame of it all!