‘The Capital’: A Poem on Washington, DC by Bruce Dale Wise

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The Capital

The capital looks like the setting of a zombie flick.
The city once had swagger; it was bright and rich and slick.
At night the neon lights shone over hustlers on the streets,
who’d sell you many things amidst the smells of skewered meats,
a whirl of midnight trades and early AM morning deals,
a swirl of business contacts, contracts, in the hurl of squeaks and squeals.
But now it’s empty, ghostlike. You can hear your own foot steps.
The profits of the restaurants dropped 88%.
It’s a collapse of traffic; people on the walks have left.
Who cares about the drop in murders, drug deals, rapes, and theft?

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Bruce Dale Wise is a poet and former English teacher currently residing in Texas.