Cranes

The incessant noise drills through my spirit.
It rattles the fragile structure of my psyche,
Cutting straight to my core.
All of this “improvement” only dismantles my safe space,
My one corner of quiet
In this hellish prison of consumerism.
The slick sidewalk blocks my escape,
And the sky pours pellets 
That threaten distress
And discomfort.
When will this all plateau?
When will things be “good enough”?
Skyscrapers go up,
While the citizens’ spirits sink,
Into the cracked asphalt 
And drown in the Seattle rain.
I am choking on concrete dust
And being slowly smothered by 
“Smiles”
And the 12th Man. 
I remember when this city felt inviting
And full of wonder.
Maybe that was childhood fantasy,
But I’d take that over this reality 
Any day.

Spread the love

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

You may use these HTML tags and attributes:

<a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>