At the abandoned threshold
of a neighborhood waiting,
but not asking, to be saved,
walls of weather stained
wood too stubborn to succumb
to the crumbling entropy of creased
concrete and the stagnant shallows
of upward staring rain pools that
reflect the overcast canvas
of a neglected sky and a marquee:
letters imperfect in arrangement,
truthful in space— a proclamation
of a world in want of repair.
