Magnificent turn-of-the-century porches disappear,
leaving behind the site where families sat, passed
in and out day after day, every sign of life erased
that once dwelled inside.
The well-built structures fell so that someone might
sell modern houses that partly mimic old styles.
Cheaper to raze than repair, local government rules,
fails to enforce building codes of the state.
In a row, condos rise along the river,
warning riders of the bypass what lies on the other side.
Streets unrecognizable from former days,
where asphalt was unearthed, red bricks were placed.
The old courthouse sits across from its newer addition.
Nearby, an up-to-date jail under construction.
Most of the old stores empty, except those occupied
by bail bondsmen and attorneys.
The city removed one store to make room for a street.
Restaurants come to cater to the courthouse crowd.
The aged train depot now holds those with a mission,
which they purport is to save downtown.