Old house poem

(a.k.a. Gentrificatio)

She stood valiantly among decadent trees and dirt paths that will soon be concrete
making way for improved strangers for an improved city she doesn’t know of
The roads that used to resign for her comfort no longer curve t’wards her
but for the greater symmetry
Whatever that is

The new tenants tore her apart
Renovated her to fit their desires
Hated her plenty for reflecting her past self
Despised the furniture she came with
Tore her apart
Tore her some more
She no longer sees herself as who she was, over time
No longer felt like herself

Her paint, a dejection
She hears your ribaldric talk
Your undisciplined nature is no secret to her
She keeps you sheltered from the political gail
The sun, some times green, other times purple

Are you aware that your child feels
like a failure?
His mother still thinks of him as the successful, mirthful person he once was
but that person is long gone
Too young to be reeking of cigarettes and gin
and everything he does is in direct contrast
with what he could have accomplished years ago
Renamed himself like protective shell ’round his dying soul

She saw him falter, day by day
Still, she housed him
kept him from all the evils of the world, but only as long as he doesn’t step out
Couldn’t keep him forever
Cried as he left
Still couldn’t make him stay

She lost all her glamour
Witnessed the last dice of her dignity as it was
bulldozed by men just trying to get off
Fell down modest
Recorded, scraped
Yet no sound came from her mouth, just a door flung open

She stood valiantly until
everything around her is more tall, more purpuitous, more evolved
She stood beautifully until
everyone who lived inside her has left or died