East of Hartford

Winter east of Hartford, winter east of Hartford,
a four mile paved road, a four mile paved road,
nothing but an abandoned
power cross station abandoned to
home the homeless, the homeless have a home
abandoned
somewhere east of Hartford, an empty road
with nothing but watergrass growing tall
on either side for miles, with nothing
but suburbs fading in the distance
and trash thrown in the tall grass
on either side of the four mile road
paved and leading straight
from one suburb to another suburb
on the outskirts east of Hartford.

A green couch missing cushions,
the cushions missing from the green couch
that greets the cars pulling into an abandoned
power cross station, the fence kicked in
and the windows shot out and the kids,
the kids drink and party and carry on,
the homeless walk the long road in winter
when winter snows, the homeless walk the road
and the kids throw beer bottles against the walls
and fuck on the mattresses flat on the floors
where the homeless sleep when winter snows,

a green couch, broken chairs, burnt trash
inside corroded storage drums, burnt rust.

And rusted fuchsia is the color of a girl’s dream
driving a rusted fuchsia car faded, a girl’s dream
car of a color handpicked about a decade ago.
Behind her a purple suburb fades,
before her an orange reddish suburb faint
and shimmering at dusk, a shortcut taken
to a destination faint and shimmering at dusk.

And as she approaches the only structure visible
for miles, a curiosity for any passersby,
a corroded steel drum is thrown out on the road,
rolls out on the road, a girl drives her 132,452
thousand miles of rusted fuchsia car off the road
and sinks head first into the watergrass mud,
hitting her face on the silent horn,
her face splattering with blood, car in mud.

And whether this was done by kids having fun
or by some homeless man hopelessly drunk,
we don’t know, nor will we ever know,
she was dragged bloody and moaning
across the lonely four mile road,
past an empty rusty storage drum
in the middle of the lonely four mile road,
past broken chairs, past a green couch,
past graffiti declaiming a football team over another,
declaiming one team to go team go team go, and
exhorting the other team to go suck a bag of dicks,
yes these are the last words read by a blood red girl
with a busted nose, go suck a bag of dicks.

All buildings are at risk for extinction. Some
burn down, some are taken by the elements, some
are condemned, some are demolished, some
are demolished to make way for new homes, some
are demolished to make way for new businesses. Some
are taken down because they remained up for too long.
Some buildings remained standing for too long.

Winter, somewhere east of Hartford,
a paved road between
one suburb with new homes built
from a paved road between
another suburb with new homes built
from a paved road shrunk
with new homes built
from growing suburbs growing into
a shrinking paved road, now
a three mile lonely road, once
a lonely four mile road, once
not a paved road at all, once
a dirt horse and buggy road, once
not even a dirt road at all, once
watergrass and a flooded plain when
the Connecticut overflowed.

And a good place this flooded plain
to build a power station, this flooded plain,
some enterprising businessman thought.
First we can power Hartford with coal
then we can route electricity east of Hartford
some enterprising businessman thought.

Winter, east of Hartford,
snow covers a flat concrete expanse,
half closer to one suburb than to the other.
Cars still park at this spot on moonlit nights.
Beer bottles are drunk and broken
on this concrete patch or thrown into the fields,
Cars park or squeal tires in circles,
anybody can go and see the circular tire prints.

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About Rumrazor

Just a malcontent surviving in Los Angeles, working the news, writing the poetry, making the films.
This entry was posted in My Poetry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to East of Hartford

  1. feralartist says:

    angel, this is beautiful – lush, saturated, crystal clear imagery. i love the use of repetition with slight re-phrasings.

  2. feralartist says:

    angel – this is just beautiful – lush, painterly, crystal clear imagery. i love your use of repetition slightly shifted.

  3. rumrazor says:

    Thx Cindy. I’m trying something new with repetition. I also did it on my two short stories. Did you ever read “My Name is a Dog Named Dog?”

  4. Carlos Lampley says:

    I felt sadness and anger and loathing, perhaps much, to much of the negative aspects touched to near reality and the apathetic world of today. This is for the times we live in and wish we didn’t and hope the injustice stays someplace away from us. Or we like “it” is paved over by unknowing do gooders in their greed and ignorance this work provokes. Well done.

  5. Ariel Marie says:

    This one felt to me like it could have an alternate title of ‘The Weardown’ for the feeling and human situation that it captured.

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