The Rust Belt
By Maxwell Ross
There are 2 cats under the wheel of an old worn truck,
Sitting in the shade, Away from the harsh sun
Paws encrusted in sand and mud and metal that shimmers
when they swat the air
— Filled with otter pops
and frozen sausages,
There is a freezer in that truck
It belongs to you. It drips
into the yard of a house centuries old,
and the cats lick it up,
seagulls chirping overhead.
Let's say you didn't leave the truck there before you left
You would be giving out popsicles to the young ones
Their sticky faces smiling back at you.
The rotting steps of your porch buckle under your weight
and your dad’s banging on your out-of-date TV
his girlfriend is sitting on the couch, soaked.
Now the steps are gone and your truck is rusting
Two cats huddled up inside, heads nuzzled against each other,
The signal will always be clear
Maxwell (he/him) is an artist hailing from a small town in New York. His heart belongs to big dogs, the evocative poetry of Richard Siken, and the dreams that fill the teenage years. In his quiet corner of the world, he strives to weave his unique perspective into words that will touch and transform others. He can be found sleeping, drawing or playing in mud.