Main Street

Main Street

The Midwest is deciduous.
The businesses are leaves
On the branch of Main Street.
A few hang on.
The diner. The sporting goods store.
People need to eat, after all,
And to kill and catch things.
There are a few new leaves.
The smoke shop with dollar slots.
The payday loan place.
The Dollar General.
But most of the leaves
Are the dry brown
Of tobacco curing,
Barely hanging on.
At the end of the branch,
A used bookstore.
This poem is in there 
Somewhere,
And an old mutt
Whose beautiful eyes
Can no longer see.
They look
Like paint smeared
With a pallet knife,
Blue and white.
Who can say how what
Survives survives.