Old warehouse as tall as the Church spire,
houses set like baby shoes around it's feet.
Fenced off, like some dangerous animal
this vast building of industry awaits demolition.
From a distance the outer walls hold
perfected glory
as sculpted as icing on a Wedding cake.
Today is the day.
A flock of birds pass the camera lens,
they sense it.
The implosion brings the right-hand side down
in exothermic sugar clouds, whiter than the aging building,
warehouse engulfed in smoke.
With a flash, as quick as a magician's hand
the building disappears.
Bonded Warehouse falls,
baby shoes obliterated from view, until the dust settles.
Post Comment
Post a Comment