Living the Mid-Western Dream

[ChristopherSea]

final version
Hi CS,
This is the song of the fat lady
Just a few nits
Best,
tectak
An unemployment office closes early;
the Motor City files for bankruptcy…

…it’s sultry and the air is heady To open with ellipses implies that the opening italics should be read as part of the piece. Otherwise how long do we pause before starting If I am right, I think you could conjoin the italicised lines to the main piece more effectively. I make no suggestions as to how but as it is is reeks of contrivance
with scents of heather and garbage
and sporadic wafts of local weed. a little over-reaching because of the and and
Winged New World scavengers
shrug off cadaverine dreams
to loop the day’s chemtrails. Though I instinctively like this I don't see any advantage in the enigmatic "winged new world scavengers" when pigeons and vultures are better images. It is a bit like "quadrupedded lamina of lignum" instead of wooden table.

A glowing Marlboro
bounces on the torrid asphalt. torrid is suspect
A rust-infected Mustang charges
a teen mother clad in seasonal
cut-offs, tank-top and flip-flops,
breastfeeding her infant
on a blistered bench. Puzzling in its pictorial veracity. Leaves questions not answers. The bench modifier seems superfluous if not gratuitous if not contrived.

The anxious mother hastens home
past throngs of skinned knees
and dirty ears, up a gravel drive
where the Ford hisses and spits
and trailers reflect midday sun
into her somnolent squint. Somnolent is suspect

Sure enough, he was home,
but his lunch was not ready…

…her willowy arms, mottled purple,
labor with the torn screen door.
Daylight retreats, snuffing out
this inveterate theme I want theme to be scene.
and the forecast of climes I want climes to be weather
being any different tomorrow.

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version 2.5
The concept is fine, the imagery is worthy. For me, and who am I, the use of clever terminology is unnatural in the piece and breeches the fabric so much that you, the writer, can be seen through the holes. It is disconcerting. This is me liking it.
Best,
tectak
An unemployment office closes early;
the Motor City files for bankruptcy…

…it’s sultry and the air is heady
with scents of heather and garbage
and sporadic wafts of local weed.
Winged New World scavengers
shrug off cadaverine dreams
to loop the day’s chemtrails.

A glowing Marlboro
bounces on the torrid asphalt.
A rust-infected Mustang charges
a teen mother clad in seasonal
cut-offs, tank-top and flip-flops,
breastfeeding her infant
on a blistered bench.

The anxious mother hastens home
past throngs of skinned knees
and dirty ears, up a gravel drive
where the Ford hisses and spits
and trailers reflect midday sun
into her somnolent squint.

Sure enough, he was home,
but his lunch was not ready…

…her willowy arms, mottled purple,
labor with the torn screen door.
Daylight retreats, snuffing out
this inveterate theme
and the forecast of climes
being any different tomorrow.


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(This poem is not making editorial on or stereotyping the Mid-West.
This scenario is universal. It was Detroit filing for bankruptcy
that prompted the title and venue. Remember, the poem is not the poet.)
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fog/edit version 2.5 Thank you!

Yes, a poem is never finished when there is a fresh critique to consider. Thank you kindly for giving this poem some consideration and sparking some new edits fo me. Agreed, I can do without the ellipsis and I will consider all of those alternate vocabulary substitutions to dumb it down for the masses. 'Scene' is better than 'theme'! Much obliged, my friend and master poet!

A new edit is up, cheers!