against the walls
of the apartment
building,
you see the wrecking
ball swing
in the early morning
light, as men in
yellow hardhats stand
nearby, watching
from across the road.
bricks and mortar,
wood, glass and
shingles all come
tumbling down after
each wide arc strike.
the dust of decades
rises in a small
cloud, carried away
swiftly by the march
wind. if you had
lived there at one
time, this would mean
something to you.
at least more
than it does now,
but you didn't and
you can keep going
without it resting
upon your shoulders.
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