look at what a mess you've made

i find myself, returning,

a recurring dream,

old familiar ways,

still remains:

the Capitol Theater, there,

it used to stand there,

right there 

where now there stands 

a parking sign

it used to stand for something,

but now it stands

for nothing else.

and the Mayflower Diner,

the man upfront, bald and bulging, 

on the payphone

"i'll shoot those sons a' b*****s..."

the saltshakers sat, still

on faded tabletops

and one time she sat right down,

hoisting herself into the booth

adjusting her apron

"how 'bout a bowl a' this?" she asked,

still adjusting, with a gesture

but then they tipped -

and i wonder how she's making out these days

with her unemployment checks -

it right over.

look at what a mess you've made.