Poem: Sunlight on Oak Street

Across the street
There always was
Golden-sheeted metal walls
Compound stretching behind the trees
Perfect point of reflection
For dusky extinction’s inspection

Sunlight walks down Oak Street
And crosses Grant to the other side

What did they make there?
Reason said batteries and engine parts
Wires and metals forged and shaped
But you only saw men come out
Men on smoke breaks late at night
Watching you as you watched them
So maybe that factory made men

Sunlight pours down Oak Street
And hits a creek before the fence

You decided it was pretty
But only at sunset
When gold was smelted and poured
Down the tin walls, only for
Your pleasure at such a time
To follow the snaking path it took
Down the road that ran in front of your house

Sunlight glides down Oak Street
Crosses creek and fence to hit rubble

It looks like a crash site
The walls are now piles of rent veils
Pulled inside out to reveal their white underbellies
Burnt by the sun that blankets their passing
And pulls a hand over their eyes
And covers with lids that look of surprise

Sunlight skips Oak Street
And falls prone before the past


Copyright 2005, Elijah Hubbard