Matthew Word Bain

this drab blue and clean white
match the grey of this sky
and seem to soothe me
though they may
have been applied
by an unsteady hand

a patchwork of paint in grayscale
plenty of plywood protecting the panes
I wonder when there was last a business
that opened this door and these windows
and carried commodities conducive to
conducting commerce on Commerce Ave.

from the level crossing looking north
to the Iron Cross, where the C&O line
crossed the N&W, until they became
CSX and NorfolkSouthern, shuffled
like the rest in the tumultuous
history of railroad reorganization

with the old lines, themselves already
amalgamations of smaller lines before,
went station after station, two of which,
had they survived, could be seen here

there used to be half of an old car from the 1950s
projecting from the side of one of these buildings
over a parking lot covered in wild, hungry vines
creeping over and slowly consuming a whole host
of mysterious objects of unimaginable provenance
like a safari park for plants and large scale antiques
while the building was home to a busy tattoo parlor
at least, that was what it seemed like as I walked by,
fascinated as ever by the way this bygone boom town
can take on iteration after mutable iteration and still,
eke along as it may, stay busted and never booming

and so, given the Panic of 1893’s impact on Basic City,
a failed wheat crop in far away Argentina sowed seeds
that have been reaped here every year for 128 of them
thus long predating the most recent demonstration
of what a small world we have made for ourselves

we used to hang
under the bridge
on summer nights
six packs and reefer
nobody to bother us
but an occasional train
nothin’ else to do in town
an’ better than stayin’ home
nothin’ to gain, nothin’ to lose
I guess those were the days

these days now are different
though this place ain’t changed
I come down here to walk the dog
and get out of the house a while
never think about those days
or these days much either
don’t see no point in it
‘tsall the same now
life just goes on

such a strange array
of goosenecks and elbows
so orderly as to appear
ornamental, though
presumably
purely
pragmatic

possessed of
that particular
brand of beauty
arising at the
confluence of form
that serves function and
being brought about by care

I found the entrance to this alley
on the level of the main drag
on a previous visit, months ago
it did not look inviting
I did not enter

the light at the top of the steps
shines down from where I stood

stumbling upon this same place
with a line of sight to the sky
from the lower level
of the service road
out back
it turns out to be
as inviting as it is
strewn with debris

multi-colored brickwork
and even the arrangement
of all these spare tires
evoke an aesthetic
that is somehow alive
evince the personality
of a genius loci

I wander through
humbled by the beauty
in such an unexpected guise

who is Bijana?
with diacritic halo
must be an angel

what on earth is an angel
doing on this “coal patrol”?

an ancient sign
a symbol and symptom
of a time long since gone by
days of enterprise and success
obscured by the purely pragmatic
hvac appliances and power distribution
successfully covered by enterprising vines

no one made this scene on purpose
and yet, by the way they were
just being in the world

vines climbing
workers working
time just passing by

there is a certain purity
just waiting to be noticed
by some lucky fool foraging
for photos out back in the alley

well – would you just look at this?
who’d a thunk I’d stumble onto this?

this scene changes every day, no doubt
I’d wager the trash is a recent addition
and those leaves are not long brown
on this day, in this light, I’m glad
I found it just the way it is here
and I wonder how it looks
in the middle of summer…
I may have to go back
just to have a look
through a lens