The roll-it-around kind of sound (a poem)

Today’s entry.

Circling the drain
or skating around the rink
the sound of sharp on hard
brushes past

A guttural drone
from where the weather has worn
the surface down
into troughs

moving back and forth
moving back and forth
moving back and forth

until the girders wobble
and fall against the center
some propping up others
some crashing to the ground

In the urban forest
people are so used to the sound
that it doesn’t faze them
even as the damage is done

Cranes twist and dip
letting the cargo sway at the tip
for a moment
we anticipate the sound

A guttural drone
from where the weather has worn
the surface down
into troughs

until all bets are in

(21 June 2017)

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