Freeway Church

This place,

Moored in silent copies

Of homes that fell forgotten

With new times and other stories.

.

It leans back from view,

Into dark brown shingles

Worn in sun and storm

Fallen behind and piled

Along old trees and

New Spring grass.

.

Stories of families

Broken and gone for healing,

With chit chat smiles of angst

Tossed across a gravel lot

Of broken high heels

And closet cigarettes.

.

All of it, staring across the way,

Escaping with the glances of drivers by.