The iron oxide flowers, red and hoary;
dilapidated cars die rusting here
among old dogs that stalk their territory,
pissing on ancient cans of Pabst Blue beer.
The cranes scream, bending air with magnet claws
while crushed glass falls like leaden, empty snow
between metallic corpses and rubber gauze
that beg me to be dragged away, singing low.
The forklift strains beneath the ruddy weight
of broken hulls that carried families
from birth to death but now whose only fate
lies in the boiling flame and smelting breeze.
The fire that refines will make them new.
I wish to God that I was burning, too.