Walking Down Woodward

A New View

Like Rome, where all busses

lead to because the loop

required width and investment

in transport due to expensive

parking. That was Woodward

in the early sixties.


The old trolley tracks along worn

concrete yearns to be a transport

to go-back to thepast. Like old

bricks seen througn  the street,

a window to what was once

walked red, white and black alpaca

sweaters and shoes called old ladies. 


Movie houses nested below,

the tallest art deco buildings

in the vicinity sway in winds

that smelled of founday smoke

and the electric spark

of the ride downtown. The

idle walk lead to the broken

quay that once was the docks.


Like the buildings, the air

is full of memory. Tarnished

brass, past glory in marquees

falling apart that make young

feet push into the future,

bounding past all things old

and mostly forgotten.







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