Façade

When a building is torn down and the front remains
A mask of uninspiring oldness sits upon a head of economical cheapness
Perhaps the city planner was satisfied by the gesture
Or the historical society

But the farce of steel beams behind ancient brick
Is as my smile behind an August haze
It's a representation of something that isn't currently here
Even if the purpose is to evoke its eventual return
To robustness and purpose
To busyness and direction

But like the builders, I'm a pragmatist
I'll show what was there, for the most part
(Unless you're invited inside)
A history worn as a protective garment
With that little hook under the "c"
Showing my sophistication
And deft use of autocorrection

Because this face is automatic too
With the rigging set up in a way that demands not to be torn down
Lest this street become unrecognizable
Even when the last thing I want
Is to be recognized