Close to the old canal
On a path for the earnest joggers
lined by elegant poplars, their rustling leaves
now yellowing in the fading light of autumn.
Here stands the rusting structure that once
was manipulated, mastered by hard-handed workers
who died young. Workers who lived close to the old canal.
in the small houses of my neighbourhood.
They came to this monster that cast its shadow in brilliant sun
or stood sulking in rain or snow.
They came to work, loading barges that glided over the man-harnessed water.
Gone, gone to earth or water, gone to the gust of wind that sends the poplar leaves
flying, fluttering down into the empty rippled water of the canal.
is it a crane? Is that what I in my Facebook ignorance must call this?
As cars and trucks speed by, here it stands
idle and unnoticed. How long before it is noticed, remembered and demolished or gentrified?
Not too soon, I hope. Let it stand here, let it stand for those workers who left little behind
as a memorial. Let it stand.