afernoon poem, July 12, 2016

The crane arm points skyward

Ruling over the city

Jointed, like a finger and

Cables taut and stretched

Along its length

Like tendons

The flag at its tip

Stiff in the high wind

The rippling image

Of some corporate logo

Too distant to discern

Or just a joke made by the crew

“Here, put this on there.”

 

Storm clouds blow in

And the wind bends the trees

But the crane is unimpressed

And still as a photograph

 

copyright 2016

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