Tin Spectacular

Watching the orange sun
fall beneath the rust belt tonight;
Nature and tin spectacular.
The beauty of the disk that hurts my eyes,
against the spectre of the freeway overpass
and the dormant docks:
Some cyber-punk aesthetic,
seen from the fringe of the shore of slick restaurants,
while the foolish retired tram tracks
behind the wire partition,
snake their way from the reclaimed waterfront
to the industrial no-man’s land,
the lumbering spectre of industry.
Decay reclaimed,
it retreats to the margins,
like the unfortunate in space and politics:
Outer space- the space on the outer
is made for the unfortunate and lost.
I see the tram tracks
trail off to the apocalyptic junkyard shipyard.
I sit next to you my love,
clad in black,
phlegmatic to the last,
fit for this industrial scene.
The sun sinks and there is no warmth;
From the sun nor from you.
Our love grows dim,
like the creeping dusk,
our regard utilitarian,
like the coat needed for the chill.

By: Nicholas McGee