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Feb 2013
Like a city grows on the banks of a river, water giving the people life, the brain grows in the skull.
Burroughs of the brain flourish, expand, fill with children; all age together.
Roads are built down familiar trails.
Thoughts flow like traffic, passed honking person to person.
Somewhere seven ghettos are folded into the pattern, somewhere seven suburbs.
Churches grow in clumps uptown, the steeples of the brain.
The people grow up, find careers that never change.
All are infertile.
School classrooms, though the books of teaching remain, empty.
Age claims first the eldest, tragedy claims others lost to alcoholism and extreme sports.
Libraries close, leaving suburbs of food sprawling.
Eventually all are in nurse-less homes, the TV flashing but set to no channel, ******* their pants.
N R Whyte
Written by
N R Whyte  Toronto
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