I've got a factory
on my block—It's
beautiful, with brick
on brick construction,
bits of metal clinging to
the sides, with no
apparent use. I love it,
Smokes from the smoke-
stacks. But now, as if to
place the final straw on
breaking back, it's condos.
They're tearing it up, and
each time I walk past,
there're fewer windows.
No beautiful grate of the
Modernist's preferred grid
(somehow finding use for
itself, not being so universal)
but clear glass; plastic
fittings, covering the edges
of green glass.
Fewer walls too, when I
went to the grocery. And
workmen, in the concrete
levels, playing music
loudly.
