Abandoned Building

Rusty red I was—a burnt-orange red
tinted from those scraps of iron you threw
into a barrel of buttermilk to paint me
and delay my decay, poisoning fungi that would attack me.

Free now from human manicure,
I live in wild abandonment.

I lean, become a loafing cover, a nestsite.
I am an island habitat, a travel lane,
a free market offering seeds, foliage, buds, twigs and
stolen goods and drugs.

Spring migration and summer breeding
are my busy seasons.

Buzzing insects, rustling leaves and vines,
whistling breeze rhythmically brushing
abandoned articles wafting on my walls
spark songs of my secret stories.

As this multi-track streams,
men flash their cameras.

Images immortalize my new empire:
raccoons, rats and feral cats,
poisonous spiders and snakes, prostitutes,
homeless, drug traders slither about unaware

the electricity is left on, ready to ignite
the gasoline and oil leaked upon my floor
prepped for my cremation.

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