Letter: Demolition

Demolition

By Aimée Sands

 

Skin of the day peeling slow on the spit

grease and grace sliding away, our bridge

falling, knocked to rubble, cables split

 

and writhing from concrete, Medusan snakes –

light yawning in the gap where darkness stood.

Piledrivers bang all night, the neighbors wake

and brood, the beams, the piers, the rivets, the wood,

 

the plates, the span that some passed over, some

passed under, braces, girders, parapet,

a donkey bridge of load and stress, not spun

or spired – untrussed and finally, obsolete.

 

Swarms flash and veer in high arc lights –

Roar of unmaking, purr of summer night.

 

Editor’s Note: The poet, a JP resident, submitted this regarding the Casey Overpass demolition.

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