Water clings to the metal railing in a wet grab,

a scrabbling for life, these tiny raindrops, 

pale bulbous bodies hanging off the steel

They reflect images 

of us marching past,
distort us as we tromp 

down the steps with our footfalls 

a military drumbeat, 

the ground aquiver beneath our feet,

the rain a fierce battering overhead. 

Wind roars with the promise of a storm, 

these homely walls with their peeling plywood

and wetted walkways are brimming 

from this quietly-kept promise. 

The buildings dream of another year spent decomposing, 

blooming a new stain

that burdens the rooftops 

and paints the window panes, 

and they sleep in a crowded cluster gathered in their gravel bed.