field out grass | | | | | | | | | THROUGH A FILM OF SOOT AND GREASE | | | | | | | | | FACTORY WINDOWS | | | | | | | | |
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field out grass | | | | | | | | | THROUGH A FILM OF SOOT AND GREASE | | | | | | | | | FACTORY WINDOWS | | | | | | | | |
Good to see a contemporary haiku, excellent!
Alan
Good one, Ed
Bill K
A solid concrete poem, Ed. How the horizontal factory takes over the landscape and still the ball field survives. Go Tigers, from a fellow Detroiter.
I liked it too, although I didn't get the reference until I read your comment – but it still resonates, even in rural England where we know nothing of ball industrial wastes or even ball (baseball?) games. The tension is universal.
love it
Quirky! :]