The Fall of Detroit

And now for a taste from far outside the wall of Chrysalis, back when the walls were still on the rise and the world was already making ready to evict humanity.

The Fall of Detroit

I am curled

in the corner.

A blown wrapper, hiding

in an ice box

apartment.

The trees have passed.

They peeked in,

thirsting,

to water their roots.

They found many.

Now, squeezed water balloons,

scattered on the street.

Furry lopers chew

on the empty.

There is rubber in their teeth.

Vines slither;

green snakes embracing

my old, brick home.

In the morning,

it will be an overturned box of legos.

I do not know

what I will be.

A red star burns

in River Rouge.

They say

nothing grows there.

Nothing new

anyway.

When the lopers lope,

I will too.

Twenty years

on the line

have left me slow.

I will not be slow tonight.

I will outrun the forest

that has eaten Detroit.