160 – Drawn To The Dragon

Poem number 160
Drawn To The Dragon
The old Civic Centre is dead,
Killed by asbestos, uneconomical office space
And the simple desire for a new, modern face
For the town council.
We watch through the glass stairwell
Of our adjacent building, drawn like moths to a flame
As the old Centre is torn down, all faces filled with the same
Look of fascination.
The Metal Dragon, fearsomely efficient.
Long necked, with rotating head and hydraulic jaws
Worries and rips at steel girders and concrete floors
Like a vulture at a carcass.
The Dragon toils all day
But we don’t. Casual trips up and down the stairs
Become an excuse to gawp, to gaze upon a corpse caught unawares
And productivity falls.
Authorised vandalism. Destruction
On an epic scale quickens the blood, brightens the eye
And we cannot help but enjoy that destruction as we pass by
On unnecessary journeys.
The old Civic Centre is dead
But our building thrives, feeding off its neighbour’s elimination
As the Dragon feeds off the girders, and we feel the elation
Of the voyeur.


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