My Humble City

My Humble City
by Alan States

My humble city, so many times you have bent
under the weight of corruption and power plays, burning rivers, empty steel mills
massive layoffs, shuttered factories, renewal projects with jobs only on paper, Baltimore.
Kicked by the steel toe that built you, your teeth have a hopeless feel to their bite.

My immigrant city, is an emigrant neighborhood now;
sprawl, flight, drain, greener grass, fear.
Hunkered down, waiting for the sun to rise, where the sun has set
on such dreams.

My once proud city, your bare bones are creaking,
lost in the shadow of your medical giants, for want of medicine
Pride and prejudice, craving for respect,
from the smoking barrel of a gun.

My poor city, panhandling on the street, in tent city, in the halls of Congress
for a cup of coffee with lots of sugar the only sweet thing
these bitter mouths have tasted,
so lost is the moment, in isolation.

My waterfront city, where seagulls shriek
as they gorge on the discarded refuse
of a town that progress and vision forgot to visit
this time around.



My unbroken city, I love thee more. For all your struggles,
the city you are is not the city you can become. And tho
your black eyes shame, your promise thrills.
The door to rekindling yesteryear’s glory has not closed