A random gap in the clapboard shows a steep drop
and a corrugated wall holds up the other bank.
Red cranes are busy again after being slack.
Water bleeds through. This hole is no longer
a fresh cut. The city feels its veins,
needs new wounds. Progress is like a thief.
Under the mucky pool
water creeps in a slow insinuation,
saliva running down a blocked throat.
Concrete will pour in and the hole will be
stanched with glass and steel.
In the mud, nettles multiply and grow rich.
© Diarmuid Fitzgerald
Diarmuid Fitzgerald has had two collections of haiku published, Thames Way and A Thousand Sparks both by Alba Publishing. Poems appeared in The Stinging Fly and Cyphers. Follow Diarmuid on https://www.facebook.com/fitzwriter