Flickering behind the railings over the traffic
the boy staggers, cradling the concrete block,
heaves its weight on to the barrier,
opens his mouth soundlessly into the wind,
spreads arms to let it topple.
Between the motorway bridge and the fast lane
the huge fragment hangs like a meteorite,
displaying irregularities as it turns.
Cut to side view of traffic under the bridge
through the projected point of intersection
towards which the missile now jumps frame by frame
until its flint point meets resistant metal
that dimples initially like skin on water
but relaxes and tears as the insistent visitor
forces its way in. The radio is playing jazz,
the driver improvising a scat accompaniment
which is observed by the boy from his small Olympus,
as his heart begins to beat with elated horror
at such a bodying forth of imagination
by actors of flesh and blood, steel and stone.
© Brian Fewster,
Published in Poetry from Leicestershire, 1999
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