It’s Home

The city sits under
Cotton candy clouds;
Not a soul in sight
In this once industrial town;
This former steel mill mecca
Of smokestacks, fat bellies,
Beer and shot bars,
Roman Catholic churches,
Good timing, fast talking,
And glorious great times
Because cash was flowing
Like the old Mahoning.

But now it’s changed:
Rundown-welfare hades
Of never-ever dreams
Pollute everything,
Everyone, everywhere.
- It’s seen better days.
- This rusty old city.

Night falls. The neon tracks
Of the biker bar on the corner
Blink on and off, on and off,
Like a tattooed siren offering
Everything to the dusk.
She sings as the railroad tracks
In back corrode from dereliction,
The wood ties rot from neglect.
"Take me, take me, and all that rust,
All that stinking rot will
Be gone with the night.
All that blight will be covered
By the darkness of darkness,”
This siren ever-so-sweetly calls.

-- Samuel Vargo