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noble architects settled by chance,
deciding in their own mild
mannered way to protect and keep citizens tied
to commerce and unable to escape
the eyes of a community
longing to catch you at
whatever piece of sin you were about;
so the streets resembled bars on a cell,
each one linked to the next
by cement and sidewalks,
each of your attempts
to leave blocked by churches on each
corner, every effort to struggle
with the devil blighted by the eyes
of Mrs. Pierce, head librarian
and chief organist
at the Methodist Church,
where she plodded up the aisle
plotting your demise,
god rest your soul.