See it from above – a helicopter shot
in a movie – and it’s a piece of equipment
doing a job. The arc of the gib
steady, measured: cargo shifted to ship.
See it from the ground and it’s as if
the iron man from the children’s story
had done twenty years on the day shift,
survived the lay-offs, paid his union dues.
See it by night under a whittled-down moon,
nothing moving but the watchman’s torch,
tomorrow’s paper full of bad news –
it seems like a relic, a skeleton of rust.
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