(When the garages open, they ooze)
Fayetteville, Arkansas 2012
When the garages open, they ooze
stolen bikes, stained reclining chairs.
Each street is named after
an ivy league school.
Nobody’s mother is still alive
and every living room has an unused elliptical.
Outside, children skateboard down Princeton
and Brown, rattling past the sidewalk grooves.
They kick the ground, hoping for momentum.
Fayetteville, bolstered by the University of Arkansas and the nearby Walmart corporate headquarters, is one of the wealthiest towns in the state of Arkansas. I wrote this poem in 2012 to document an area of town just outside the main drag that was a stark reminder that poverty is prominent throughout the state and even in some communities inside Fayetteville. It is nice to revisit this poem and remember one of my first attempts at capturing Arkansas and working class issues. I continue to write about both, most notably here and here.