Parallel parking is no problem
in the town where I grew up.
Our 1950 Buick is not
wedged in between a street
lined with cars.
People no longer walk
on the sidewalks and traverse
in and out of stores.
Packages piled with goods
that the beautiful little town
had to offer.
Magically the big city
moved closer
and people whiz back and forth
to make their purchases.

Our town,
Mexico
Meth to go

The wind blows dust
in my face as I see disintegration
through foggy hazy sun.
I ache for drug store cokes
on a hot summer shopping day.
Old buildings could be restored
and made beautiful again.
But what’s the point?
They will still drive to the city
and forget the early days
of acknowledging familiar faces.