city of souls

The greyed out buildings blend together,
broken windows splattered across abandoned warehouses.
Driving by on the elevated highway, toward the east side,
the strip club mecca and bombed out factories
of East St. Louis no longer pangs of shame.
Strength settles in, an unexpected companion,
as I eye the Arch and neon riverfront casinos.

The graffiti bleeding on walls, peeling paint signs
and empty streets no longer cause for embarrassment,
Still somber but signaling something,
Concrete flags of peace 
and signs of survival
littering the streetscape.

My ancestors joined the millions
who tread these streets,
shuffling to work at the car plant,
long days spent at factories,
callous hands but mild hearts.
The once-bustling downtown,
now simmered to a slow hiss.

the city of little distinction,
no one's travel destination,
no one's dream place,
the bleary-eyed town now
an overlooked half-child.

once among the biggest in the nation,
now overshadowed by its
big city cousin,
but continually humming
through steamy river heat
and dirty-snow winters.
its souls softly glowing
with a life of their own.

The muted clothing, sensible shoes
of day time transformed
into lively pubs, electric ball games
and beer-drinking nights.
The city nursed on a brewery,
suckled from infancy,
birthed by two muddy rivers
and some weary souls.
The workers plod on,
through centuries of pain,
lulled by love, family and loyalty.

These are my people, 
not the glossed-over images
gracing the silver screen,
or the colorful characters
commanding headlines. 
not the well-respected intellects
or the beach-loving crew,
not the high-powered suits
or the plastic eye candy.

the loosely lived-in city
devoid of hipsters, shiny things
and serious buying power.
never commended,
rarely recognized,
and often ignored.

but continuing to shuffle
and stay alive, asking for little,
surviving a lot.