you –
the gap-mawed crane bucket
biting and ripping a ceiling;
arcs of hose spray leave
your prize glistening
in the sun, glittering drips
from the ends of rebar,
wet sheets glaring the sun
at passersby –
taking the time to
smooth the dangling edges
left by your mouth, so
no destruction occurs
while you're not there to
enjoy it –
I mean, not to frame this
as a jurassic-park t-rex situation;
that is I don't want to make any
assumptions how
you think of yourself;
but
got any plans tonight?