Skyline preceding the fall

after William Carlos Williams, after Bruegel

Humming over tree line

over old Hwy 20

where sky begins

where West end ends

and anyone hears

15-horsepower Yamaha

sputtering bright roy-g-biv

wings and beach chair

aiming parallel to the tracks

shadow bumping over

machine shop yard

electrical supply house

Juco softball backstops.

Sixteen-hour round-trip tired

Bone climbs the dock,

callouses on broken concrete

pull with arthritic grunt.

Sunlit wings flash

overhead behind him

but he doesn’t care

what carpet layers or

pockmarked welders

stare at skyward

above the trestle

beyond the kudzu

arc eyes fighting to see

something amazing:

a sudden downward shift

an unexpected gust

cooling sweat skin

of west-enders with

something better to do

than watch a life

fade away beyond

pine trees waving

at someone falling

delicately onto the new

west four-lane bypass

built so many

years ago that killed

our Hwy too.