across the road she crouches and mopes

I can imagine us both in all sorts of capers

her dead husband's crane collapsed, the

tragic story splashed in all the daily papers

 

the width of a street yet a yawning gap

behind her the glow of a widow at night

my crane gleams in the moonlight clear

no metal fatigue affects its noble height

 

airborne pokes my rude steeple, a belfry

immune to attack from any wind or rain

like a sturdy pylon charged with electric

that once up will never come down again

 

an obelisk mobile as some high wind-vane

steel reinforced concrete at its dense heart

no geometric angle behond its raw power,

and accurate as any poisoned jungle dart

 

she sadly yearns for a replacement crane

swaying like a royal flag-pole in the wind

memories of her young paramour the lost

crane driver with whom she had sinned

 

my crane is telescoping beyond control

out of my window and across the street

an arch over tarmac, a mad throbbing tip

smashes glass for by now its at her feet

 

up she springs keenly sprinting over the arc,

on my crane frantic she's snuggly straddled,

but up close she's a disappointment, those

eyes wrinkled, the face undeniably raddled

 

sensing my rank disillusion she returns to

her stale boudoir and its dreary dreams.

using hydraulics, I fully retract my crane

after wiping her footmarks off its beams