When contemplating Urban Renewal
which is a subject I contemplate
quite rarely, my mind turns to
progressive Butte, (Montana)
the hub, or pit, where I was born.
A good thing about Butte, ( )
it takes a firm positive stand,
or sink, on town planning.
Butte ( ) is a copper town:
many Irish mine the copper.
As the town spreads, the pit
deepens, building for a
better tomorrow.
The foundling fathers of Butte, ( )
aware of their prolific birthright,
display prodigious foresight
in building the pit deeper each day.
They are placing their faith
in a growing America–an idea
which sets one all aquiver
with civic pride.
The pillars of Butte, ( )
know from ethnic prognostication
that soon God will ride
silent from a peak in Darien, ( )
disguised as a laborer (one
of the wittiest acts in his routine)
upon his fiery yellow Cater‑
pillar (long about high noon).
God, with his cool flinty
stare will size up Butte, ( )
and smiling warmly (with one
swift flick of the wrist) he will
rev up his Caterpillar, and
level the whole town of Butte, ( ).
Then he will ride
into the dusty sunset
to the strains of
Do Not Forsake Me Oh My Darling,
while the citizens (senior,
twilight, and of tomorrow) are
cooling in the Kelly Pit.
Therefore, when contemplating
Urban Renewal, nostalgia
carries me back to Butte, ( )
where they are doing their part
in meeting the challenge
of a growing America. I find
real security in this thought.