Madison Heights

by Peter Muglia
There is a busy little city they call Madison Heights
It does not have the splendor of Londonís sights
Nor the brightness of New Yorkís lights

But do you know whatís neat?
The way 696 and I-75 meet
This is Metro Detroitís heart beat

There is something that is not funny
I speak of when a homeless man on Dequindre asks for money
They canít afford the bus
As a society I esteem that a shame on us

Not many people drive in Madison Heights to stay
The rich man in the Corvette drives through after leaving the highway
Yes, this is the typical day

The traffic always causes a perpetual sound
There are numerous vehicles driving around
Do you know whatís vile
All that litter on Dequindre & Twelve Mile

They call it a city of progress
But the rat problem, someone must address
Also those ugly incinerators are the cityís shame
I think their hideousness gives us a bad name

Is all that co2 coming out of all the carsí exhaust pipes good for my health?
Sometimes I think Iíd be better off living in the rural down South
Iím poor and broke
And I think my inner-peace is about to croak

You know what, I have come to like this town
Despite the aspects that make me feel down
There is a place that I think should be renowned
It is Rosies Parkís friendly little playground

As you began reading this poem, I hope you didnít get me wrong
Iíll explain and it wonít take long
Listen, Iíve experienced the marvel of the robinís song
Even on the trails in White Hill when I walk along

Madison Heights has beauty I insist
Take an early morning walk through the nature centerís grand forest
You will realize the cityís wonders are too overwhelming to list

I know we donít have Scotlandís valleys
It can be discouraging to see all the vandalized alleys
Yes, Iíve seen broken glass
As Iíve walked through feeling remorseful that Iím lower-middle class

Everything feels near
I rejoice at the fact that I live right here
Listen attentively and incline your ear

Itís nice how the stores are so close by
Living in the rural, I donít think I would desire to try
Yea, Up Northís wilderness is beautiful I wonít lie
But driving forty minutes to get groceries would make me sigh

My bank and grocery store are close
I think that is what is important donít you suppose?
I can conveniently buy food, fuel, and clothes

Head over to the civic center
The view from the top of the hill, what is better?
There is a pity
That more people donít appreciate this city

Driving down 12 mile and I see so many restaurants
Now I know why nobody here hunts
Your heart can devour any delicacy it desires at once

I have high hopes for Mr. Hartwell
He loves the city from Dequindre to Campbell
The local economyís potential I just canít tell

Yes I do enjoy the parks
Despite my forbearance of so many hostile barks
Thereíre too many dogs
And yes, there is the presence of Detroitís imposing smogs

You know what makes a new driver like me cower?
The thought of driving around the city during rush hour
The driving conditions in the evening make everyone sour
Oh and donít worry this poem wasnít intended to last an hour.

Iíll admit, I donít understand the purpose of this poem
I know this town doesnít compare to Rome
But you know what? Iím glad to call it my home