I never noticed until now
Detroit is a real town
Thru a puddle, I go
Past the shuttered laundromat
The charcoal stump colonials
Carnivorous ivy
Strangling the
Rustbolt cars lining the
Pothole roads that I never noticed
Until now, Detroit is a real town
At the corner of Rosa Parks Dr.,
A rotting moonlight and gasoline aroma
A damp liquor store and a bus-stop
sign,
6 ghosts linger around the metal post
Like silvery mothra ,
Clinging at night to an outdoor light
The saviour stop.
For tiffany spirits
With expressionless faces.
Two phantom headlights manifest
Out of the indescribable looming night
And park at the sign
The ghosts faint
Thru the double doors
Of one rickety, dutiful citybus
The tailpipes dripping wil-o'-the-wisp
As it proceeds out of my view
Into dark night shade.
.
I wish I could say this was a dramatization. The area surrounding UofDM (the small, private, Catholic sancturary of a college I used attend) gives me the chills at night. And I swear, every person I would see at the bus stops (there really is a street called Rosa Parks Dr. with a corner bus stop) looked like a ghost.