The Town Where Only Assholes Come
a poem by Dominick Isaac

Once young girls,
breathing their charming flawed girlness
inside vintage dresses,
came curious to sit by me in the cafe.

Now the cafe owner
leans over the counter,
inventing good reasons the toilet doesn't work.
When I give him a solution
he thinks I am too clever,
says I never ran a cafe,
and invents another good reason.

Once the town echoed
with the sound of great celebrations.

Now only the feeble ring of a crank call
crawls across the silence,
a black ant on a beige tombstone.

Once a generous sun smiled on the streets,
promising the age of aquarius.

The Town Where Only Assholes Come

Now the sun scorches the cafe
like a cheap oven.
The cafe owner recites a good reason
for not fixing the air conditioner.
Office workers in black
crawl in single file
to hole up in beige houses
and finger their telephones.