My home is made of grit and dirt
The taps run sweat,
the windows are shattered,
their glass clinging to frames
like broken teeth to gums in the mouth of a boxer.
My town is a fighter,
built of scrap metal and machines.
The streets are steel
and the river nuts and bolts,
its gears turn through rust
and parts corrode away.
Time turns it green, orange,
black with oil and grime,
but my city is a fighter,
made of grit and dirt,
and it lives.
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 9:16 PM UTC
My home is made of grit and dirt
The taps run sweat,
the windows are shattered,
their glass clinging to frames
like broken teeth to gums in the mouth of a boxer.
My town is a fighter,
built of scrap metal and machines.
The streets are steel
and the river nuts and bolts,
its gears turn through rust
and parts corrode away.
Time turns it green, orange,
black with oil and grime,
but my city is a fighter,
made of grit and dirt,
and it lives.
