yellow
Road construction is taking place at the beginning or end, depending upon how you are driving, of the subdivision. I cannot help but notice the yellow cranes and semis and bulldozers of all shapes and sizes and the soot they continuously put into the day's air from early morning to well past dusk.
I watch the trucks and their some how guided motions from side to side, left to right, south to north, over fertile ground and through trees and listen to the commotion when they back up, move forward and bulldoze down another stretch of land to make way for the eventual hospital and all the roads and side streets and office buildings that will lead to it.
I think, for no reason at all, of the tonka versions that are working just as quickly on my internal organs to repair damage that is beyond repair. And as the crane pounds sharply on my left side another pounds sharply on my left side and a bulldozer tries feverishly to smooth out the pounding, leaving a mess of scare tissue that eventually has to be plowed under and paved so that my body can come up with efficient techniques at simple survival. Roads are being half constructed in all directions so that blood can travel to needed areas while others have simply been retired and labeled useless.
And when the sound down the way stops for a lunch break or the evening, the tonka versions within continue to work, sometimes faster and sometimes harder, letting me know through a strange noise, a craving for more fuel and piercing pain or an occasional 'burst pipe' that an overhaul of sorts is continuously taking place within me. I take medication to smooth out the ride, release the soot called toxins built up after years of construction, much of which has been faulty from the very beginning, without warning signs or an indication of the serious trouble that once forthcoming, I now experience for the rest of my living days. And although the primary focus now is on comfort, some of the damage has been so meticulously constructed, the educated and knowledgeable are simply guessing to allow me the, not taken for granted, ability to live for one more day.
I watch the trucks and their some how guided motions from side to side, left to right, south to north, over fertile ground and through trees and listen to the commotion when they back up, move forward and bulldoze down another stretch of land to make way for the eventual hospital and all the roads and side streets and office buildings that will lead to it.
I think, for no reason at all, of the tonka versions that are working just as quickly on my internal organs to repair damage that is beyond repair. And as the crane pounds sharply on my left side another pounds sharply on my left side and a bulldozer tries feverishly to smooth out the pounding, leaving a mess of scare tissue that eventually has to be plowed under and paved so that my body can come up with efficient techniques at simple survival. Roads are being half constructed in all directions so that blood can travel to needed areas while others have simply been retired and labeled useless.
And when the sound down the way stops for a lunch break or the evening, the tonka versions within continue to work, sometimes faster and sometimes harder, letting me know through a strange noise, a craving for more fuel and piercing pain or an occasional 'burst pipe' that an overhaul of sorts is continuously taking place within me. I take medication to smooth out the ride, release the soot called toxins built up after years of construction, much of which has been faulty from the very beginning, without warning signs or an indication of the serious trouble that once forthcoming, I now experience for the rest of my living days. And although the primary focus now is on comfort, some of the damage has been so meticulously constructed, the educated and knowledgeable are simply guessing to allow me the, not taken for granted, ability to live for one more day.
posted by the warrior at 5:23 AM
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