Dust There After
In the hurricane, and the flood thereafter,
I wish you were the ceiling that would come down on me.
Breaking me of this pattern.
You won’t. Because.
My infrastructure is more than brass tacks and bolts. It is,
More than the pyramids.
Built of stone and sweat,
Of many iron hands that made me. Me.
I am only the dust left after.
Joelly. C. s-Poet