This rubble was a building. That building was my life.
Perfectly fine, adequate enough to make the best of the current circumstances. Eventually
it came down to the day to day and then one day faith in that survival was not
enough for the world, the block. Morning comes through the Turnpike horizons
where cars and trucks head elsewhere in America. They’re going anywhere and
everywhere that is not here. The
implosion had a cause beyond the wrecking ball – greed masquerading as
progress. Now just shards and jagged hunks, still and useless in the sun waiting
for the dump trucks to come. Even memories of what this was no longer exist.
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