In a town named Indiana

A dirty river bends and winds, writhing
and churning, wallowing around this

town built with clay bricks
cemented and burying a past

now nearly forgotten, nestled beneath
the cemented streets that lie over the
decaying bones of prideful people.

We accept ourselves with sweet amnesia
cruising in cars, captured by computers;

Yet the river still remembers the days
when it once was clean, celebrated and sacred.