Cleveland

Once a man of steel, cuckolded by foreigners, made to bear a rusty belt And belch hapless smoke in shame. Once a spiderweb of commerce- now a conglomerate of strangers, united by dementia-ridden streets frayed and cracked by Erie’s buffets- but the breakwall soldiers still hold the line. As do the masses, when they can stand the agony of Sundays as crying sots, drenching the gutters in saltwater beers, burying the despair behind frozen, grim, angry brows. On they fight, under the evergaze of endlessly winking red guardians who still believe, as the men below, that Cleveland still rocks, on and on.