Digging.

 Sputter out like a busted tail pipe spitting smoke

The road crashes into cars and we never get the joke

Flail your arms about, waving wildly as you spin

Panorama flashes into focus then rushes out again

 

Tall buildings and skies and flattops and streets

Raucously whirling past, just greasy and glistening

Mac trucks with their blaring, blasting horns

As the kids on the school bus giggle and groan

 

Structures, construction, houses and shops

More towering giants soaring over and across

Landscape for days some forgotten or overgrown

Hidden beneath the grey sky and shadows of loan

 

Broken down scenery covered now by backdrops

Graffiti on the main loop at every given stop

Like our little life theater perfect as broken as it comes

Pushing past Painting smiles or frowns on everyone

 

We flounder around town like fish out of water

Shifting, searching, teaching and learning to barter

Prodding, pointing prosecuting fingers at anyone we can

There once were real people here, this once was land. 

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5 thoughts on “Digging.

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