Sic Transit

Cold drizzle on this sad industrial town,
too slow to cleanse - the status quo is clinched
as moisture seeps into the cracks and pores
of sandstone walls along the potholed streets,
and coal dust's etched in senseless patters like
a madman's wild tattoos. The patient years

have seen a long go-down: no more the ruse
of building when the brave new quarters sprang
around cast-iron plants, and work-for-all
has fallen off. Nine decades on, the paint
is crusted and old hoped have changed to dirt,
the only free commodity still there

for those that haven't quit the broken panes
and bricked-up windows; dowry left the place
at its shy bride's desertion. Modern minds
have other aims to strive for, new ideals
of beauty, different ways...Its hour past,
and old nor beautiful, the town's lost caste.