Could feel the eyes staring at me
through the tattered windows
of the beat up homes
as I walked the rotted road
that held this Shantytown
built on the outskirts of a tourist town.
It was like walking through
a deserted ghost town
with all the quiet air
that was filling the sky.
I came here to learn
of my family beginning
as this was where
my ancestors lived
and raised their own.
Would not be here out of curiosity
if my own family
would speak of their home
however when questions are asked,
all members lips tighten.
As I walk along this stretch
I see beaten, old homes
that the weather has not been kind to.
Off to the right is a swampland
I have overheard other call the Bog.
I can see the tops of torn tents
where I heard folks of another colour
may have been exiled too.
I was hoping that was not true
but I can see where it may have been.
Realize I may never fully know
about the folklore feel about this place.
The doors to those times
may never be open to me.
The ground I walk on, it seems,
will never let me know
as more doors creak close,
the hidden secrets of this Shantytown.
April 9, 2018
© Andrew Scott – Just A Maritime Boy 2018