along the highway

the light is low
along the blue ache
of row houses,
battered and sagging,

like shoulders
gone old under the weight
of an unfair world.
a bent chain link fence

connects the next fence
to the next, bordering
a square of dirt and weeds.
flat tar roofs, boarded

windows. the iron rail is
rusted along the scrub
brush against the stoop.
the steel chain where the dog

would bark, is curled heavy
and empty under an ashen tree.
someone's name in red is
sprayed onto the brick,

a body part crudely etched
beside it. how this place
reminds you of where
you've been and how hard

you try to not go back.