9261. JENKINS REACH

JENKINS REACH
(a tale of one city)

I climbed the tower, with one

hand, got to the top with the other.

Looking down, there was an old

Duryea test road, something

through the woods and made

of dirt. They used to test run

each car they made, along that

road and up to this top. A Duryea

used to be a really hot car and

having one of those was 1920's 

hip. The test road's still there, 

now with a strange, large pagoda 

at the top. I've been there; Reading

Pennsylvania. Hometown of a

lot of folks, but now the town's 

gone bust. I mean big-time bust.

Nothing but hospitals and clinics 

and government welfare crap.

Everyone along the street  -  lost

and disintended, knowing nothing

of what to do, let alone the how

to do it. Down to the bottom of the

road -  a huge old city cemetery, and

the factory and a few other things

from the motorcar days. Shillington

is another town not so far off, where

John Updike* grew up. No one says

much these days about stuff like this.

You're not allowed to blame the poor

themselves, for being jerks, or for 

wanting things, for taking handouts; 

and so it seems it all rolls along in 

a dead silence. People like zombies 

entranced. They walk around and

nod  - the flim-flam losers and the

druggie kids too, fifteen tattoos and

not a penny to their name. But cool,

so cool. 'Someday soon, I'm going

back to school.' Yeah, he doesn't 

mean community college. He 

means eleventh grade.

-

*John Updike  -  

The Poorhouse Fair,'

and 'Of the Farm.'