Tuesday Poem: A South Philadelphia Landmark

Walt Whitman Shopping Plaza
2011, Philadelphia, PA

O Walt! What would you make of this strange
memorial, your longhaired, bearded head
so homely in bronze, or is it fiberglass,
dusted with verdigris, and big as a rain barrel,
lonely on its narrow pedestal between the
sidewalk and Dunkin’ Donuts?

You look as if you’re melting in the heat,
and tired of functioning as a landmark
for this sad strip mall, with its crumbling
macadam parking lot, its patriotic Price Chopper,
its thrifty Dollar General, its Payless Shoes,
Dress Barn, and Avenue for ladies in all sizes.

They’re finally tearing down the abandoned
discount outlet sitting, sad as a waterlogged
shoebox, off to one side, blindfolded now,
like a hostage, gagged with plywood,
and awaiting execution.

There is a Pearle Vision behind you,
but it’s just a place to buy new glasses,
and there’s a KFC directly across the street,
perhaps giving you and Colonel Sanders
the opportunity to converse, so maybe
you can teach him a thing or two about
taking better care of our hearts.

Speaking of hearts, I’m sure you
would have no trouble finding a way
to love the poor people who shop here,
though their ponderous bodies would
shock you; the way they seem to
creep between the old Fords and Chevrolets
and the few stores left, on sore,
barely moving feet.

All of them, so far from being electric,
far from the visions of our early days
that you strung like pearls across our
national identity, the word melodies,
the fierce love of country and humanity,
the tapestry of ordinary life
you sang into mythic existence.

O Walt! The America that bloomed
under your gaze is withering on the vine.
Like you, I am a phantom curiously floating
in the far corners of this place, in search,
in search of its song.