Trash city rests beneath

the heaven of industry

nestled in the damp sewage

of a town long forgotten

between rich and poor

well off and well endowed.

I stare numbly at the slums,

those rusted tin roof whore houses

dressed up like mansions

to satiate the needs of men

in the prime of their dreamed empires

of surplus.

My hands are cold

watching those homeless drunks

whistling warnings

while throwing glass at those

Neon billboard cities glowing morosely above

flowerbeds of smog

bloom drearily over my head

while trains belch black fog

telling of an advancing storm

of inevitable metal.

I stand above the darkness

of this forgotten kingdom

of rust and decay

and I ring the bell

gaze down at my world of mortal pollution

listen to that deep voice of mourning

singing the funeral dirge of a people

who no longer hear its call.

The prostitutes that parade the facade

of beauty in a place

of such obvious distaste.

The dealers in holey crap shooter fedoras

paying homage to a dying past

and those faceless children

who live in the sewers setting traps

for the stray cats

that keep them from starvation

I gaze down and I am overwhelmed

by my hopelessness, my sorrow and despair

but out of obligation, or some lingering

sense of faith

still I ring the last chapel bell

and hum the final parting suite

and when at last I turn the lock

It's wailed lament continues to fall

on deaf ears.

Alone

I light a candle

for the evening mass.

Lauren Hatch

January 8, 2008

This is one of the last creative writing projects I did. Just turned in and everything... took a lot of revisions and killed a lot of trees to write this one. Pretty satisfied.