A hundred years it stood there
the storefront on the corner of Main and West
were the immigrants had bought their dry goods
until the big chains drove them under.
Then came the community book trade
the thrift shop, consignment shop,
the ceramics supplies, the barber shop.
All went under. But the building stood still
until new codes were passed by those in power
developers posing as polititicians to get their way,
and the facade was deemed "friable" and condemned.
I had to look up the word, when I got the notice,
I went outside, then, to check the bricks and mortar.
But it was sound, more sturdy than the sinking cinder block
across the town they had thrown up in haste to make money.
Friable, I thought, the last fatal blow for Main Street.
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