Spikey City Poem by Fred Babbin

Spikey City

Spikey city
Blue-grey on the water, and windy.
What are you saying to me?

Steel, stone, glass, cement, and the dollars
With the hollers of the brokers on the floor.
Suits, ties, shined shoes, pants suits.
Baking in the summer sun.

Buses, taxis, trucks, belching vapors,
delivering loads, flitting from spike to spike
with the noise of nothingness..
Going, going, going…

And the anonymous mob
Walking, walking from spike to spike,
Being swallowed and regurgitated endlessly.
And the noise, the unceasing noise.

Excitement? Madness? Sanity?
A million journeys, reaching to the sky,
As though the secrets of Heaven will be found there,
and the universe will reveal itself to us.

But these secrets have been found.
We see these Heavenly mysteries
with our electronic eyes and marvel at them,
and guess at their meaning.

And the spikes build and grow
Like some gigantic caterpillar
Or infinite ameba without limit.