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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