Get used to this new century, Pal.
Ain’t no mill work ‘round here no more.
Skunk reek. Half-sunk lathe in the swamp across the tracks.
Midnight ivy climbing the bleached shingles of a Baptist church.
Backyards and their windows lit in lurid carmine and orange.
Fathers in wheelbarrows hauled home drunk from local bars.
Ditches. Mounds of pea stone. Doublewides without flush toilets.
Donuts, caffeine and cigarettes 24-7.
Greek name for a pizza parlor run by Mexicans.
Rottweiler on a chain tied to one leg of a rusty propane tank.
The symbols are here to amuse all the ghosts
fading along with men in their narrow houses,
toothsome as the widows and their pets on leashes –
Army uniform in a closet none dares to empty.
Copyright 2014 John Flynn
title photography by Amber Casperson