The scale
There used to be serious cylinders here
They provided work
and gave us lettered light
Now I'm on my terp
of packaged litter
Green cultivated, carefully decorated
for a bit of relaxation for spoiled children
I lay my elbow on my knee
and gaze at a horizon
full of urban obstacles
It doesn't bother my mind at all
Feeds fantasy and futility
of everyday histories
Not that I desire to go back
those thick columns, striking and massive
on the edge of the city
A century, maybe a little more
What arises on the scale of progress?
Then I feel a soft tap on my back
I'm returning again
I turn around
A smile bounces off my face
the frown shrinks before his eyes
Mom are you coming? Can I have an ice cream?
I've already given in
Erlin Mulder
The scale