I start with a backhoe, displacing
brain-sized clumps of earth.
A few fickle particles escape
between the imposing metal teeth.
The mechanized bucket clinks
against a rigid texture.
I grab a shovel, bending my spine
to the task at hand.
Pretty soon the shovel only scoops up
unsatisfying fistfuls of dust.
It is cast aside for the broom,
revealing the smooth shape underneath.
A dingy film is spread around
by the coarse fibers of the broom.
I grab my toothbrush, furiously scrubbing
the chrome-plated formation.
Now all passersby
can bite my shiny metal
victory.