Postacropolistic

The televangelist’s tower
glowers uptown

at the pile of cigarette butts
industry left

on an unmown lawn.
A weary train glides through

remembers stopping
at a window in the unleased skyscraper

the fresh dust of drywall
the uphill building

potential. The hum is traffic
blood cajoled

to swift and distant bypasses
so the suffering heart may be kept safe

and last.
Only hospitals grow

grass protests
through established sidewalks

signposts beg for paint
to show the way.

Featured photo courtesy of Jessica Anshutz. Find her on Twitter or Instagram @flannelkimono.