Zoned Industrial

A steelyard
By the railroad.
A patch of trees between.
A recent trend
To asphalt.
An eastern fringe of green.
A creek down
At the bottom,
Beyond the southern gate.
A wood slope
At the top end,
Where once the grouse would mate.

Mid-day the
Trucks are hectic,
As I-beams cut the air,
On waiting tusks
Of forklifts,
With elephantine care.
Or pipes rolled
From the flat-beds
Like ancient logs of Tyre.
For some project
Through blueprint, blade and fire.

But on a
Wintry morning,
The snow might trace the tale
Of moonlit
Lapin lovers;
Of foxes on their trail;
Of field mice
Plucked mid-scamper
By silent aerial claws;
Of Nature’s
To our industrial cause.


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