This town is not mine.
Its sidewalks— as grey as they
Have ever been.
The evaporating rain—still the same.
But when I walk the streets
I peer into shops
As if they are spaceships
Newly landed—and I fear
Walking into one of them
Will make my money
Transport to specific coordinates
Set by the US Bank—For it is they who—
(The empire who struck first
Who keeps on striking)
Turned my simple walks with wine in hand
To expeditions of payment plans.
Tickets must be purchased online
So, that the spaceship shops know
Exactly what it is
That I don’t really need
And must not live without.
They assure me,
(the ensigns of the spaceship shops)
That the universe is ever expanding
At a faster and faster balloon mortgage rate
(They call it “greed matter” commonly known
as dolla’ dolla’ bill y’all)
And that there is no way
It can be slowed down…and
That my city can never be
A city like the city it once was
Even though their shops
Are patterned after the city that once was
Where I developed the first anti-matter attitude
And a dangerous dance called the warp core breach.
Which they all seem to have down
Better than me.
Because they can afford to do so.
This makes me think
I should have become an astronaut
A developer, or an alien
But no. I preferred to walk.