I wrote this one a while back when they were starting the construction to move the railroad tracks to accommodate the new twins stadium. I don't think I like the title, and I'm not really sure where I want to go with it. Any good ideas?
The Maintenance of Progress
Between the tracks, eternal parallel lines
(and all lines, we know, are circles):
To the right, a hobo’s blanket soaking in a puddle—
plaid flannel smeared with grime,
besmirched with mud and corruption,
limp and defeated under a sky of cold steel.
To the left a sapling, two seasons old—
a thin stem whipped with trans-American winds
dusted with coal particulates,
baked under the hardening sun,
and marked with an orange nylon flag,
while orange paint poured out like blood upon the ground
cuts cross-ways in a jagged perpendicular
between clumps of splintered wood.