A Haibun for White Center, Washington

Smell that? Refried beans. Sorry to say, the secret ingredient is lard. Better watch your step. Human or animal, I can’t discern. Ignore the boards on windows. You can still get your smokes from the shop. But the ice cream man is gone. Let’s take a walk when the rain lets up—if it ever does. On a good day, you can see The Mountain. Capital “T” & “M.” It’s bound to blow. But not in this lifetime. Except maybe at the very end. Si dios quiere. They joked: this was once Little Mexico. But we moved to the suburbs & got sit-down jobs. Dreams of our abuelos. Me? I never knew when to leave a party. If you see a coyote, drop a few coins & say a little prayer. Speaking of which: they took a wrecking ball to the old church. Poor attendance. Lack of faith. It’s funny. Cheaper to break it down & start over. This town lost a little of itself. But who hasn’t? No, it isn’t snowing.
   

Could be asbestos
        could be progress, a little
    ain’t going to kill us

Vincent Antonio Rendoni (he / him / his)

Vincent Antonio Rendoni is the author of A Grito Contest in the Afterlife (Catamaran, 2022) and the forthcoming poetry collection Dead Chicano Mixtape (Red Hen Press, 2027).

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Poet’s Note

White Center, Washington, my hometown, sits at the edge of Seattle city limits. Affectionately known as “Rat City”, it once had a reputation for high crime and urban decay. My abuela would turn in her urn if she knew I was walking these same streets now. I have a lot of love for the way it was. But now? New buildings. New homes. Gentrification, maybe. Still, some things remain consistent. The vibrant community. The best tacos in the Northwest. This poem is about that bittersweet, but ultimately positive feeling when there’s change in the air.