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.
"Are the brown / Of tobacco curing."
Beautiful, rich in imagery. Great writing, Austin.