Henry Hudson Never Saw The World

Henry Hudson never saw the world
I was raised in. Railroad tracks
over cracked concrete pitted
with fresh tar and overflowing,
flowers of oversized homes
sprung up along the forested
shores, weeds of trailers
sprung at their feet.

No. He doffed his cap and trimmed
his sails without the smoke
stacks pumping out concrete,
the barrier walls and the docks
nestled up against the rocks
where I used to tie my line
and wait for the bass to bite,
lost in the bosomy mountains.

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A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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