Again the day comes to roar
memories of tired industry,
echoes from shop walls of
hammer on steel and union rumble.
But now, now the air fills
with distant cars and that
familiar dirt, to be paired with
a cigarette beyond the glass door,
routinely consumed between
weekly meeting of implied blame.
On the walk home, against the wind,
passing old and crumbling bricks
as they decay in cold neglect,
fault is painted in lost noise.