Amuck

A street. Rain. A town
mostly abandoned,
death by attrition,
hard fought,
a slice of America,
somewhat pitted,
but without an iota of surrender,
the streets wet with rain,
never sure
if they are God’s tears,
or new life, wet and refreshing.

Some of both perhaps.
Things are rarely as simple
as we would like,
each story filled
with hidden gems and monsters
waiting to spring,
a fairy tale
gone amuck.

About this poem

Things, good and bad, are never as simple as they seem. Every story has twelve stories underneath it, like tangled roots under the grass.

The picture was taken in Fair Haven, Vermont.

Tom