My dad worked in midtown at an advertising agency and for years as a young kid I would go to work with my him in the summers, just as a way to stay out of trouble.
We would always take the same route and on the way we would pass an old decrepit building sandwiched between two large contemporary buildings. I thought it to be odd and took note of it. Time went on and the older I got the less I would go to work with him. After a seven year absence I went back to his office and on the way looked at the old building, only to find a tall “Modern” in it’s place.
This is a poem dedicated to that old building:
Not abstract, not dificult, no intricate intentions intended, built because it was needed, wanted
At one point in time this building was magnificent It had class and character unlike the moderns
Many colors hid under the chips of other colors like an ice cream cone freckled with sprinkles
Carnation flowers covertly carved in concrete Old Victorian styled swirls and swishes
Stained gray walls with avenues of cracks, avenues that lead to other’s which
had no names, just like the street signed numbers Not a full step, nor a large step, but many is too many short little steps
How many times did one have to step, icy, chisled steps awkwardly loved those succinct seventeen steps
Rounded out concrete bit pieces, missing, different tints, red brick outlined pigeon shitted pieces
I loved that building in all its dread No one else stopped, no one else cared
It stood with broken pride for many a year and now it stands no more.
Now, it’s bravado chested successor stands among the bland.