Dystopian Present

Sacred islands ringed by rusted steel, barely covered by flaked disappearing painted

scaffolding, standing like a forest with barren limbs,

empty of leaves, fallen over time

blown into space, like people leaving, boarded windows, parking meters expired

find the airport, the train station, the greyhound station

go to Illinois. Indiana’s steel cities are empty-finished now

Small plies of coke and coal line the roads where services had storefronts

the barber shop is closed  , the windows at the dry cleaners  broken, medical care shuttered

50,000, 24/7, with its own fire department, trucks gone hoses rotting

Its bus system gone closed deserted

a ghost town with mill scale streets and heavy dust

obscuring the world that was

big steel is gone now and little steel struggles

but the children of the corn remain

steadfast in their beliefs of their own righteousness

and worthiness in eyes of their almighty

be like them or you must leave therefore suffer banishment

from the promised land for popcorn

of harsh winters and hot summers

and endless pollution left behind by the mills

but they are surprised, in this age of instant communication

to find  that others across the states don’t agree

that legislation protecting religious  freedom is at best

a painfully obvious attempt to roll back the clock

to our dystopian past