Manhattan is Sinking
We, islanders,
transverse a thin veil.
Our slot car city,
the steady threading of trains,
dozers bulldozing, jackhammers
of feet tapping out that million man march.
How deep can we scrape?
Till the last filling
is spilling off the last tug
chug chugging up the Hudson?
When the water table
comes to sit at our table
will we listen then?
Or only when the stone skin buckles?
When we suddenly sink,
will it be like an atom smasher
all of us flying apart into a great dark?
Or will we eddy, swirl and coalesce
into a giant batter?
Will people say then we came together?
You seem to always sneak something thought provoking in just when I think you aren't going to.
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