New York

November 15, 2015

The sheer clank of it, the clank, the noise, the grind, the grime, metal bolted roughly on metal, the grinding of metal on metal, great sheets of steel just thrown down on the shore, covered in dirt, the hiss, the steam.

Built on a rock. And when you get underground, under the pavement, under the way, under Broadway, under broad way, you’re in a cave in the rock and the steam, the broiling air, gasping, hot.

The people come up from under the ground every morning, swarming over the concrete, glass and metal.

Noise at every level: the roar under the ground, the roar on the ground, the roar in the air. The constant rush of traffic, rubber on brick and metal, honking, bashing, clanking, building, the city is always being built, from the ground up, talking, walking, clatter, helicopters buzz, planes drone.

The roar like the ocean: sounds more like the ocean than the ocean. The ocean comes right up to the island, right up to the freeway, the freeway a huge metal girder thrown on the ground. A tiny strip of sand between the steel and the water. The man made buzz competes with the ocean, copies the ocean, says “look at me! I’m like you!”.

The ocean is still, placid, waiting, waiting for its time.

3 Responses to “New York”

  1. jsladay Says:

    You left nothing out; well written ….

  2. […] nickreynoldsatwork on New York […]

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