With the last coal gnawed from the earth
And the steel mills spiked and cold
I imagine Nanticoke as a place
Of rolling hills and valleys where
The horizon is now visible on
The grayest afternoon

I imagine you can breathe easier now
And someone in the councils of
Power is already thinking of
Turning a smelter into a casino
Like they did east of here in Bethlehem

But breathing the morning air and later,
Not coughing up black phlegm, is one
Compensation. There must be concern
In knowing there are a lot less
Candidates for tubercular decrepitude
Than there used to be.

So I imagine Nanticoke as a dying town
Although this may be unfair. I’m sure
The mayor has other ideas, and is
Using words like “flux” and “transformation”
To sugar-coat that last parade of tumbleweed

And what keeps you there, I wonder?
Are you someone valuable to the
Slimming community? A teacher, a nurse,
A civil servant. Does your husband
Profess at the nearby college and delight
The coeds with his pithy way of teaching algorithms?

When did the charm of the small town
Become a Siren’s song to you? And if it is
I would question how that came to be
Recalling you had countless orgasms
In the towers of light and sound
That was a city’s heart.

I imagine Nanticoke as a tough, gritty place
Whose flowers only grow when
You plant and nurture them;
Whose streets are only animated
When your feet touch the pavement.

But that’s silly romantic me again:
Turning a ghost town into Disneyland
And you into a princess
I wanted long ago to awaken with a kiss.

12/18/2010

Posted on 12/18/2010
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