Driving into the Unbeautiful City
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Driving into the unbeautiful city
gutters fill with rainwater and empty
the unbeautiful city rained upon

like an unbeautiful girl running home
in the rain under the dead half-moon
blouse torn from her shoulder

hard skin clawed from her shoulder
all of the city’s industry coughs
its grain elevator rusts

Driving into the unbeautiful city
at night from the south
driving a cherry 1965 Ford Mustang

candy-apple red, newly waxed
or driving a rusted, skeletal pickup
a vehicle used to haul manure

and the long seedlings of grass
Driving into the unbeautiful city
drunk and worried about radar traps

squinting at slashes of white line
like an archer’s distant bull’s-eye
or sober right at the speed limit

whistling with pop tunes on the radio
Driving into the unbeautiful city
for dinner in its best restaurant

your reservations are at eight
the man you must meet speaks only Italian
Driving into the unbeautiful city

in the backseat in cuffs and leg irons
you give the marshal wrong directions
to the penitentiary south of town

an old man who spilled milk down your chin
and held a smoke to your lips like a lover
Driving into the unbeautiful city

for the first time
concerned about the apartment you rented
over the phone, the price very reasonable

the family dog falls asleep on your lap
you spill cold coffee on your crotch
your kids decide to have a spitting contest

Driving into the unbeautiful city
from the south you pass the labyrinth
of stockyard pens and walls and walkways

cattle out in the downpour snuffle at
men who work on the killing floor
smoking on their break in the wind and rain

men who mix brilliant red with brilliant red
their gadgets whirr, tools of death
high tide comes somewhere and it’s blood

a place where you know no one and no one
knows you, the bloody tide arrives
at twelve-thirty P.M. and midnight

Driving into the unbeautiful city
blood gurgles in the dozen drains
on the killing floor

a worker sweeps hunks of skin from the drains
on the floor, it’s a bloody waltz
it’s midnight, love-hate overtime

the silver machinery roars
Driving into the unbeautiful city
your partner sleeps beside you

a friend or lover, it doesn’t matter
the one who drives half the time
who began driving when your trip began

when you locked your empty apartment
in the south, blessed walls you punched
in angry blazes, said farewell to your sunrise

view, always on time and unclouded
Driving into the unbeautiful city
your partner snores through a violent dream

Driving into the unbeautiful city
with only a quarter-inch of brake left
streets slick as a rink, tires bald

but you wouldn’t know that
following the arrows, clipping off miles
squinting at signs in the rain

finding no light in the city’s shadows
no celestial light, no beacon, no portent
Driving into the unbeautiful city

From Freezing by Steve Langan
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