Small Town (Poetry)

You were small once — modestly proportioned —
fitting neatly in the natural dip between the hills
with room to spare on either side
before the clumsy bulge of new estates lumped on —
spread uneven — changed your balanced shape
and made you awkward — overweight.

Not so charming now black lycra streets stretch thin
around a waste of bloated brick
your pleasant character subdued since this creeping flesh
of sly development has overpowered you —
smothered stylish skirts of green —
split tradition’s woven close-knit seams.

Your old stone heart is under stress — the through-blood roars
from pressure — all the strangers and the noise —
you weren’t designed for this — a life force-fed
while buried deep inside your haunted rib
a small town spirit lingers — knows itself
consumed by that pale image all but gone.