This poem appears in the Winter 2021 issue of Modern Age. To subscribe, click here.

Leeds, MA

Disused. Obsolete.
   I’m sure. Quite so.
But still, how sad: this too, this human feat,
Must go.

No more will footfall sound
Along the planks.
The iron rusted red like clay around
The banks.

The brook will ever wend
To sea, to sea!
As if to say that yes, it too will end
As we.