THOSE MEN
Those men are working like ants now, crawling
in harness over the skeletal remains of the General
Dynamics building - white-powdered concrete and
the dust of cemented loins. A powered-crane lifts down
the slabs, things crash as I-beams clash. Every window
that was here once had a view to something there. How
different things are now : flattened and wide open; piles
of diminished rubble with park-kids' voices still stuck to
the rungs. I can hear the fun and laughter yet resounding,
as well as I can hear those dads flourished cars arriving
for another shift. Life in this wheelhouse was never fun.
Now only the tower stands, ivy-covered and derelict too.
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