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.