That long stretch of metal breaking Is the sound of ages of man falling apart. He was here, looking out the window, Watching the machines grab at The I-beams, the girders and chains. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, he said Together with his long name and Cigarette brand. So I moved closer to watch The men pulling levers, raking shards; I felt his breath against me, and I squirmed At the thought of him looking, His hand thinking of running north Towards everything he ever really wanted. Today, he said at my neck back, I’ll look For another place to live.