15: Downtown
Nov. 28th, 2010 07:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jon_chaissonDowntown was such a huge place when I was a young kid
Full of traffic and life and community
Walking the mile there with my mom felt like forever
But I looked forward to it every single time
I knew every inch of the sidewalk on the way there,
Every crack and bump and crumbling corner,
Every front stoop and concrete wall I'd climb
Until we hit the tunnel street, head under the train tracks
That was the boundary between my neighborhood and downtown,
A sure sign we were downtown where everything happened
Past a pizza house and the packie that sold nightcrawlers
Up South Street, past the bike shop and the restaurant.
Sometimes we'd head down Exchange, past the empty lot,
past the furniture stores and the bank and the penny store,
Up to the one stoplight in town, where everything met up--
another bank, the hardware store, the old and empty hotel.
Turning right down Main we'd pass all kinds of amazing stores--
The insurance office, the stationery stores, the flower shop,
The former bowling alley and the restaurant everyone went to,
Until we hit my dad's office across from the clothing store.
Sometimes we'd continue up South, past the bald and sandy hill
That once held another hotel, across from the gas station
And the former train station, past the community clubs and the Y,
Around the corner and down Main until we hit my dad's office.
In my dad's office I'd stare longingly at the geoditic maps on the wall,
Or at the map of the hundreds of towns that made up Massachusetts,
Or play in the dusty back room on the long metal shelf
Where they'd collate the newspaper sections for the delivery boys
Or sometimes I'd stand in the front window, watching the world
The cars and the trucks and the kids and the parents and everyone.
So many former places, so many past lives in this town,
Once a thriving miniature metropolis where you went to be seen.
Taken away once by the bypass, taken again by the country's economies,
Leaving dusty and faded storefronts and saddened memories.
And yet each time, each and every time, sooner or later,
Something new comes by and replaces the old memory with a new one,
Giving fresh memories for new kids in town.
Stores replaced with stores, lives replaced by lives,
Continuing on in one way or another,
The cars and the trucks and the kids and the parents and everyone.
This entry was originally posted at http://jonchaisson.dreamwidth.org/3948.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Full of traffic and life and community
Walking the mile there with my mom felt like forever
But I looked forward to it every single time
I knew every inch of the sidewalk on the way there,
Every crack and bump and crumbling corner,
Every front stoop and concrete wall I'd climb
Until we hit the tunnel street, head under the train tracks
That was the boundary between my neighborhood and downtown,
A sure sign we were downtown where everything happened
Past a pizza house and the packie that sold nightcrawlers
Up South Street, past the bike shop and the restaurant.
Sometimes we'd head down Exchange, past the empty lot,
past the furniture stores and the bank and the penny store,
Up to the one stoplight in town, where everything met up--
another bank, the hardware store, the old and empty hotel.
Turning right down Main we'd pass all kinds of amazing stores--
The insurance office, the stationery stores, the flower shop,
The former bowling alley and the restaurant everyone went to,
Until we hit my dad's office across from the clothing store.
Sometimes we'd continue up South, past the bald and sandy hill
That once held another hotel, across from the gas station
And the former train station, past the community clubs and the Y,
Around the corner and down Main until we hit my dad's office.
In my dad's office I'd stare longingly at the geoditic maps on the wall,
Or at the map of the hundreds of towns that made up Massachusetts,
Or play in the dusty back room on the long metal shelf
Where they'd collate the newspaper sections for the delivery boys
Or sometimes I'd stand in the front window, watching the world
The cars and the trucks and the kids and the parents and everyone.
So many former places, so many past lives in this town,
Once a thriving miniature metropolis where you went to be seen.
Taken away once by the bypass, taken again by the country's economies,
Leaving dusty and faded storefronts and saddened memories.
And yet each time, each and every time, sooner or later,
Something new comes by and replaces the old memory with a new one,
Giving fresh memories for new kids in town.
Stores replaced with stores, lives replaced by lives,
Continuing on in one way or another,
The cars and the trucks and the kids and the parents and everyone.
This entry was originally posted at http://jonchaisson.dreamwidth.org/3948.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
