1. Superior Coach Company
In single file, the children
left for the last time
taking their seats
with them.
left for the last time
taking their seats
with them.
They were replaced
by dusty carpet coughs,
pipes that snake around
screens and barrels
to seal and to hold
degenerate things—
the dead leaves
that crisp under your feet,
the rising rot-rust.
This lot a landfill of
by dusty carpet coughs,
pipes that snake around
screens and barrels
to seal and to hold
degenerate things—
the dead leaves
that crisp under your feet,
the rising rot-rust.
This lot a landfill of
blacked out windows
boarded up with closet doors,
caught with cracked black tree-vein reflections,
superior coach no. 9.
WE’RE HERE FOR YOU.
boarded up with closet doors,
caught with cracked black tree-vein reflections,
superior coach no. 9.
WE’RE HERE FOR YOU.
and the moss grows clotted and moldy
on the driver’s seat.
2. 1312 Merrimack Avenue
An empty house with no driveway, it sits behind
a screen of trees, unseen while you pass unless
its color it whispers through branches and catches your glimpse.
Its pale orange paint now peels in strips and rinds,
Dutch hoods torn and muddled, roof rot and outlines
worn by termites, soiled with dust, must, a mess
of windows sliced, stagnant smells confess
a long condemnation, they sneak through cracks aligned
An empty house with no driveway, it sits behind
a screen of trees, unseen while you pass unless
its color it whispers through branches and catches your glimpse.
Its pale orange paint now peels in strips and rinds,
Dutch hoods torn and muddled, roof rot and outlines
worn by termites, soiled with dust, must, a mess
of windows sliced, stagnant smells confess
a long condemnation, they sneak through cracks aligned
with a translucent mosaic sticker once carefully placed
on a quaint back door; warped open, lets in a piece
of sun. Rumpled carpet and leaves tumble soft and fawn,
a tin ceiling dazzles, now tarnished but proud; it’s gaze
downturned, solemn like the blinds, still hung but drawn,
says soft, “I know who made this a home, why they are gone.”
on a quaint back door; warped open, lets in a piece
of sun. Rumpled carpet and leaves tumble soft and fawn,
a tin ceiling dazzles, now tarnished but proud; it’s gaze
downturned, solemn like the blinds, still hung but drawn,
says soft, “I know who made this a home, why they are gone.”
3. Brox Industries
Brox Industries bought a house,
then bought three more
in a row across from the river.
It was cheaper to buy
the families from their homes
and keep on blasting
than it would be to get
sued for the noise.
“In the more than 50 years since the
Brox family founded
Brox Industries, Inc., the company has had
a very simple goal: Seek customer
loyalty, not merely projects.”
then bought three more
in a row across from the river.
It was cheaper to buy
the families from their homes
and keep on blasting
than it would be to get
sued for the noise.
“In the more than 50 years since the
Brox family founded
Brox Industries, Inc., the company has had
a very simple goal: Seek customer
loyalty, not merely projects.”
So the people took their settlements and left
their homes, their things—
a crystal chandelier on a screen-porch
still catching light through roof-holes,
a patterned rug covered in wild birds,
oranges and greens,
smelly and tattered,
they left everything to be
flooded, condemned
by the fire department,
broken by snow,
boarded up with road signs.
“Among the high-quality products
Brox provides are
hot mix asphalt, septic sand,
screened loam and crushed stone.”
A bum opened the door to the corner house
and felt at home in the cold mildew that greeted him.
He thought, I would be proud
to own a house like this.
He sought shelter there, but
while trying to keep warm,
set it all on fire.
their homes, their things—
a crystal chandelier on a screen-porch
still catching light through roof-holes,
a patterned rug covered in wild birds,
oranges and greens,
smelly and tattered,
they left everything to be
flooded, condemned
by the fire department,
broken by snow,
boarded up with road signs.
“Among the high-quality products
Brox provides are
hot mix asphalt, septic sand,
screened loam and crushed stone.”
A bum opened the door to the corner house
and felt at home in the cold mildew that greeted him.
He thought, I would be proud
to own a house like this.
He sought shelter there, but
while trying to keep warm,
set it all on fire.
4. Loosigian Farms
Frames like skeletons, whose plastic skin hangs
torn, it flows fragile onto the dirt where
discarded plastic planters tipped
and their daffodils grow in the concrete
amongst weeds, heavy with ticks,
all the fans are
still, rusted to a stop.
These are the things left:
torn, it flows fragile onto the dirt where
discarded plastic planters tipped
and their daffodils grow in the concrete
amongst weeds, heavy with ticks,
all the fans are
still, rusted to a stop.
These are the things left:
a lipstick-red tractor,
half-buried in mosquito puddles
from a river-flood,
half-buried in mosquito puddles
from a river-flood,
a solemn tire swing, strangling
it’s tree with choke-chain,
it’s tree with choke-chain,
a dirty, white golf cart,
engine exposed, cuts and
tears in its seats,
yellow spills of foam,
engine exposed, cuts and
tears in its seats,
yellow spills of foam,
a crumbling pick-up, door open,
a wreath of twined branches,
placed gracefully on the passenger seat.
a wreath of twined branches,
placed gracefully on the passenger seat.
greenhouse skin, catches in stillness,
the farm covered in what’s left.
5. 1310 Merrimack Avenue
The mailbox still stands, tilted.
There’s still a white wrought
iron bench bordering
the overgrown driveway,
a tin bowl in front
of the wooden doghouse,
hand-made in the back
of the weed-garden.
The boards are falling off
the windows, no one bothered to
board up the side door.
All of the upstairs windows
are wide-mouthed, like it’s
some Saturday in August
and everybody’s home.
The generator out back
still reeks gasoline.
I walked in, hoping
to see movie-romantic pieces
of the inhabitants of this chic teal house,
stucco with a 60s balcony,
dog-eared photographs or
answering machines.
Instead, a white stove,
some trash and a pink and orange
Dunkin Donuts cup mocked me
amongst rotted holes and water stains.
There’s still a white wrought
iron bench bordering
the overgrown driveway,
a tin bowl in front
of the wooden doghouse,
hand-made in the back
of the weed-garden.
The boards are falling off
the windows, no one bothered to
board up the side door.
All of the upstairs windows
are wide-mouthed, like it’s
some Saturday in August
and everybody’s home.
The generator out back
still reeks gasoline.
I walked in, hoping
to see movie-romantic pieces
of the inhabitants of this chic teal house,
stucco with a 60s balcony,
dog-eared photographs or
answering machines.
Instead, a white stove,
some trash and a pink and orange
Dunkin Donuts cup mocked me
amongst rotted holes and water stains.
