IV. Silver City, NM, 345PM
I was only ever a visitor
Through the pines,
Up the hills,
Into the sky.
//
This was not how we remembered it.
A row of closed signs on coloured adobe shops,
A town quiet and still
But for the restless New Mexico wind.
//
Without the bustle we began to notice
Age and imperfections in
Buildings lined with corrosion, the cracked
Piping weaving its way over faded paint and
Handlaid brick that had once contained
Someone’s livelihood.
//
We scavenged for lunch
While a group of boys that could have been us,
Were we born in a different place,
Crowded around the open hood of a 1974 Bronco;
As faded as the city itself.
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Posted Mar 8, 2018, 7:47 PM UTC · edited
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