The Last Man on Main Street

He ambles by shop windows,
boarded up mostly.

The grain store building,
its name etched deep in timber,
has been available for lease
since Reagan was president.

Beyond the town,
wheat fields have turned into
malls, big box stores and parking lots.
A kind of reverse magic, he figures.

He recalls the candy store,
the movie house, Benny’s shoe emporium.
All dead and buried where they stand.

It’s the lifeless hub
of a near-ghost town.

A dog barks two blocks over.
A screen-door slams.
That’s what passes for noise
in these parts.

He walks on.
There’s the abandoned hardware store.
Its paint peels like old sunburn.
And the busted hydrant.
No matter.
A fire in these parts would be a blessing.
And the shuttered diner.
The $2.99 special will never
pass this way again.

And this is Main Street.
Imagine what life’s side roads must be like.

---

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Midnight Mind, Willow Review, and the Pennsylvania Literary Journal. Latest books, Bittersweet, Subject Matters, and Between Two Fires, are available through Amazon. His work is upcoming in the MacGuffin, Touchstone, and Willow Review.