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

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