The Western Town (Depression)
The sun hangs low over saddened streets.
The coffee shop slouches on the corner.
Mediocre coffee served with a smile that
Left with the wind years ago on the day
hope died.
The post office stands with no purpose,
Door still ajar.
The mail scattered like dried leaves.
The church steeple tilted in prayer
To a heaven that no longer listens.
Houses stare through boarded windows.
Their memories of people long gone
Stifled and layered in dust.
Down the road
A tumbleweed rolls slowly.
A small ghost from the past
Wandering west,
Where no one waits anymore.
The Suburb (Recession)
The sky hangs grey above silent streets,
Plastic siding faded by years of sighs,
A coffee chain squats on the corner
With over-priced lattes, rehearsed smiles
Their names mis-spelled on paper cups.
The church stands locked against
The emptiness,
Yet homeless
Sleep in the squalid retreat
They are the faithful
To survival.
Empty homes sit hollow
Down the road,
A plastic bag drifts tumbleweed-style
Wandering west
Where no one waits any more
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