Rust Belt Dreg

Written By Ed Cichon

Lackawanna, NY

A spring-summer morning

Wandering through rust belt dregs

With sour smells

Shuddered windows

And all these mangled trees

Drivers start their deliveries

And a miserable old man on little golf cart

Passes me by

Leaving a trail of talk radio

Framed by an immobile American flag

No smile behind his eyes

Such as he is

Left behind

A rust belt dreg

Ed Cichon
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