Colossus, Detroit
Just off
the river: the Ford plant—
they say you can put four tons
of straight dirt
into one end
and out the other
comes a new car, for a moment unmarked,
unnamed;
the motor’s deep-song
giving pause, single true breath
through a pure throat
before another hard silence
enough
to almost hear each traffic
light click red,
here, at the city’s bad heart
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