Jack-Hammer
Nov 24 2008


The jack-hammers are at it again.
The cracked, barely patched, skin of the city
is under attack,
the cacophony of urban living
intractable.

A heavy glop
of thick grey slop
slurries-off the backs of trucks,
folds into wooden forms.
I sneak by at night
and leave my mark —
one square of sidewalk
as my message to posterity.
Or at least until the roads department
otherwise decrees.

On my daily walk
I smile to see my writing set in stone —
the concrete idea,
heavy-handed prose.
Wholly pleased
with this minor sedition,
my impulsive act
of mischief.