Poems of Place: Enfield, CT

Somewhere in New England in the gunpowder hills where CT becomes MA, 

There’s a shed that’s strewn with arms and legs, torsos and trunks,

And here and there, you’ll see outstretched arms and palms in supplication, 

Motionless like stone-cold victims of Vesuvius now seen at Herculaneum.

Somewhere in New England not far from the Lego house the Danes built,

Vans bought the sewing tables from a hundred shops which may have sweated once,

But now stand silently, awaiting alterations. 

But the orders will not come. COVID makes blazers and flannels superfluous.

Somewhere in New England not far from Stop and Shop

You’ll find a silent forest of tinsel which once be-decked the halls of mansions like Madison,

Which now are but a dream of Christmases past and stand in gloom

Behind the random cabaret tables which the held neckties, bow ties or pocket squares 

Monogrammed with Golden Fleeces, the badge of presidential approval.

Before us, we contemplate a muster of mannequins, anti-socially distanced, lonely and unmasked:

They do not appear to be having a nice day. 

*The Ghosts of Brooks Brothers 

After the retailer filed for bankruptcy, one couple was left with a warehouse full of abandoned mannequins ….

New York Times, April 2, 2021