Living the Mid-Western Dream

[ChristopherSea]

fog/tec/bena edit 4/version3.1

The unemployment office closes early
and Motor City files for bankruptcy.

The sultry air is heady Much improved already
with scents of heather, garbage
and sporadic wafts of local weed.
Pigeons and Vultures No purpose in capitalising a nameless bird
shrug off cadaverine dreams
to loop the day’s chemtrails. I like the tongueeness of this...it sounds better than it is but it is none the worse for that

A glowing Marlboro
bounces on the scortching asphalt. typo
A rust-infected Mustang charges
a teen mother clad in seasonal
cut-offs, tank-top and flip-flops,
breastfeeding her infant
on a paint-blistered bench. No. sun-blistered, heat-blistered, blistered paint, but NOT paint-blistered

The anxious mother hastens home hurries is better. hastens implies speed by prompt rather than by desire. Also " The harrassed mother hurries home" seems like a ripe plum
past throngs of skinned knees
and dirty ears, up a gravel drive
where the Ford hisses and spits
and trailers reflect midday sun still andy
into her tired squint.She has a squint?? No to this. "into her half-shut eyes..." Half shut gives you tired and squinting against brightness in an understandable and clear image. We all do it...too clever is stupid so keep it simple.

Sure enough, he was home
and his lunch was not ready. Try to cut off your ands for a day

As night falls, willowy arms, her willowy arms
mottled purple,
labor with the torn screen door.
Daylight retreats, snuffing out
Darkness snuffs out this inveterate scene,
along with the promise
of a change in the weather" Your poem
this inveterate scene
and the forecast of weather
being any different tomorrow.

fog/tec/bena edit 4/version3.1 Thanks again folks!
It is a very good edit. I like that you are holding firm on some of your thinking and not just rolling over to the crits. That is as it shoud be. My nits today are small...take'em or leave'em...I know you will.
Best,
tectak

No, most of them are valid points tectak, especailly all of those typos!
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fog/tec edit 3/version3.0

The unemployment office closes early
and Motor City files for bankruptcy.

It’s sultry and the air is heady
with scents of heather, garbage
and sporadic wafts of local weed.
Pigeons and Vultures
shrug off cadaverine dreams
to loop the day’s chemtrails.

A glowing Marlboro
bounces on the scortching asphalt.
A rust-infected Mustang charges
a teen mother clad in seasonal
cut-offs, tank-top and flip-flops,
breastfeeding her infant
on a paint-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 tired 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 scene
and the forecast of weather
being any different tomorrow.

fog/tec edit 3/version3.0 Thanks again folks!

-----------------------------------
almost version

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 scene
and the forecast of weather
being any different tomorrow.

-----------------------------------------
fog edit2/version 2.5

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!