Long yellow necks
Reach high above
Rooftops and skyscrapers
They are cranes, not birds
Lifting buckets of concrete,
Iron, and building materials
They eat the sky
Dominating the cityscape
They roost and puff their chests
Saying “No space left down there”
Up in the operaters box
A tiny figure in a yellow cab
Pulls levers to hoist tons
To add floors to the sky
To build the bones
Of superstructures
Cells for corporate dealings
White men sitting behind empty
Shiny, reflective desks
With no way to expand horizontal
It’s now vertical
Tourists chant “look how tall!”
More square footage
To create shadows even at noon
They puncture clouds
Aim for the stratosphere
Their mating call …lift lift, lift
Until every square inch is filled

Tom Stock January 24, 2017