On observing the demolition of an old school building over the course of several weeks. When the Grapplersaurs and Bulldozers             Rex first set upon the old building,   biting off great chunks of brick and                 steel, such gaping wounds, I felt shocked,      the violence and all, but then compassion            took its turn once I found myself looking at Berlin, c. 1945, oh I have seen the     newsreels, and my eyes began searching for starving             children amidst the rubble, crying out for a simple                 hunk of bread, but one weekend I returned   like Columbus discovering a new land,              wondering if I had somehow misread the       stars, and then awe became my only sense, to see                      that site flattened to a perfect     Hiroshima scene, but really what I felt was scared,       the wrecking ball a metaphor that                     confounded me, for in college I had read       Intimations of Immortality, and here I saw    everything erased, a slate wiped so spotlessly                clean, as I would one day be erased, with no one the wiser, but in all            this a saving grace, how surprised I was to see Featherland Farm re-appear for              just a moment now, its fields leveled back   to where trees still make their final stand,               though soon to be erased again. Oh, I          said to myself, finally understanding something of import, nothing lasts. October 12, 2004

All written material © Bill Schechter, 2016
Contact Bill Schechter