Rural Observations

A stop sign, bent and rusted from shotgun blasts
Stands guard at a corner littered with cigarette butts
That point to a manicured yard of closely-cropped blades
And an empty porch full of mysterious dreams.

There's the drug store there, white brick on a corner
Just across from the courthouse lawn
Which sits next to city hall
Beside the water tower that serves as the square.

They're chopping it up- the square, that is-
Intent on making their great past greater
New bricks will capture the past better than
the old, they think- Or at least better capture
what the past is in the minds of those coming
To see it, and toss a few coins.

There's a local restaurant there beneath
The tower's shadow; serving up country fare
To those willing to eat it.
Been there for a while- saw a success where
Others saw derelict structures beyond saving.
Now that their Solomon wisdom has borne
itself out, the Pharisees wish to take part-
Yet, as Pharisees, they must take the truth
And pull it into a taffy that cannot bear the
Weight of its own nature- thus they destroy
That which made the idea visionary to begin with.

The rent will go so high, that the old restaurant
will close, move on, never serve the town again.
But there will be more shops, more restaurants,
More things, I'm told, and we won't remember
That little ol' thing.

Small towns are like unicorns- unique and skittish.
Since we are so different, so bold and so brash,
Their relative innocence excites us and leads us
to soil their beliefs until they resemble us.
We cannot leave well enough alone.

There is a fine line here, and I can't see it,
But I know well enough when we've fallen off.
We'd be best advised to grope for the pier
Instead of wading out into the listless sea.