The Visitors

It wasn’t like this before.

We were never modern or trendy
only feeding off old glories
of dead sailors
and football stars.
So we liked having you here:
the wealthy relatives who never held us in any regard.

But now you come to visit
all the time.

There is no more sitting outside with a beer and a book
contemplating the view
(those places still exist but there are no chairs
available for our kind –
You couldn’t afford us is implied.)
No more houses we can rent
without selling an internal organ in the black market
or something else by the roadside.

I walk past you everyday
swaying my lunch box, smugly.
Look at me:
I’m a local
I go through life here and you’re clogging up my path
with all your strolling – I think
maybe unfairly.

It is not your fault.
At least you’re trying
to see a world outside your own
and we have all been you
from time to time.

But it wasn’t like this before.
You were always around but came only in waves
with the seasons
not this perpetual presence
parading through our bloodstream.

So the city inflates
in its vanity state
showing off to the smart
and sophisticated
while it spatters the locals
now so very depreciated.

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Categories: English, My Pen, Verse

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