A Seattle poem

My old hometown is not what it used to be…

Downtown may as well be a foreign country
my home in a border town
I hate driving south of the border
stuck in traffic by the stadium
itching for a drink

The man on the corner is acting as sentry
walking the line of cars up and down
You can pay with dollars if you don’t have quarters
that’ll get you as far as the station
and that area near the port that always stinks

Either way, I avoid the new gentry
they have a way of getting around
buying up property, talking to reporters
complaining about real estate inflation
and what all the locals think

That kind of life must be so empty
all overtime and Uber—options, up or down?
Commerce on the march to marching orders
regardless of orientation
with free food and drink

I’m no closer than I have to be
enough for quick trips to town
in and out in short order
without having to worry about the state of the nation
as I watch it slowly sink

(27 June 2016—posted June 28th)