Demolition of the Symon's Building

Demolition of the Symon's Building

The crane's neck
skeletal
swaying in a concentrated dance
above the arcing shell
of brick and blinded windows
seeing only shadow, gaping cold

Each graceful movement
ends with a momentary pause
and then the hollow clack
like footsteps in an empty room
as the unseen wrecking ball
takes dull, unhungry bites
from the red and black carcass

Daily they continue
yet i never see people,
only the slow, dancing machine
and pale, intermittent billows
of dust

Each evening i watch
as the sinking sun
sets fire to the window sockets
and pulls gold from destitute brick

They have altered my sunset
opened up more of the sky
and reshaped the mood and spirit
of the russet and purple veils of cloudlight

I wake each morning
expecting it to be gone
but those walls are stubborn
and as difficult to kill as the wind

Yet in one thing man always persists:
the destruction of progress or
progress of destruction
we care little which–
Armies march not to make war
nor to make peace
Armies march to march
the rest is inconsequent residue–

So i am shocked at my surprise
of coming home one evening
to watch a fading sunset
behind a flat and sterile field of brown
stretching away, brickless and silent,
to the old river that washes our memories
like dirt from a child's face.

–Marc Beaudin

(Originally published in The McGuffin)
This and other works by the author can be found at http://www.crowvoice.com