Ypsi
by Matt Catania
I apologize in advance.
This was going to be your great declaration.
This was going to be your fearless chant; your bravado.
You promised many things. Many things to many people.
You promised me I would come here for a new beginning. You said I could start
my life here. Things would be different finally.
Things have been different.
I can see you for what you really are. You are
the new Americana.
I cannot drive down your roads without my gray car shaking its shocks to their end.
I embrace your autumn, with all the falling leaves kept outside by boarded windows.
Windows boarded for the urban hurricane. The people who used to live there
walk across the street without looking at traffic. They could be invincible.
They think they’re invisible. They want to see what it feels like
or they just don’t care.
They cross the street to go to an open interview. They stand in a bread line
to get the paper they need
to get anything other than bread. Our new Americana.
I saw you in my dreams - I saw a town where people were starting a small revolution. I was in the middle of it. I was a voice; a leading voice.
Now I have lived here, I know there won’t be a revolution. It would take too much time.
I have felt your desire to stay the course. As long as I am here I know I will not see your roads change, your windows become glass, or your cold homeless visible.
You have promised all that can be taken will be taken without hesitation if we hesitate. You
will do the taking. I wished I would be able to call you home, but home does not take.
You could have been so creative if you kept your mind open. If only you could share
you could have given us everything we never knew we needed. If only you could have given us hope.
You gave us no room to create. You’ve left us to buy things. We don’t know what we need.
We don’t understand the things we buy. We don’t make anything anymore - we only want
what we want; we want it now.
We get what we want. We got
you, Ypsi.
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