Madison Baldwin

A Structure That's Not Quite Sound

 I'm particularly fond
of decrepit buildings.
Most would consider them
repugnant eye sores
a danger to the children
a hostel for rodents and bums and cockroaches
littered with shattered 40 oz. bottles
and cigarette butts swollen with piss and rainwater.
I'm not disputing any of this
but you also can't dispute
the charm in a structure that's not quite sound
a myriad of contrasting textures
colors that don't always complement one another
chipped bricks
wood so splintered you can't identify the grain
rotten drywall cultivating a deadly cousin of penicillin.
I'm particularly fond
of decrepit buildings
because they remind me of myself
ugly and broken and essentially worthless
cold and inhospitable
but to everyone's chagrin
still standing.
Madison Baldwin lives in Tennessee and is a college student on hiatus for summer break. Her work was published in the latest edition of the Sequoya Review Literary and Arts Magazine and is forthcoming in Issue 7 of Allegro Poetry Magazine.

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