To love a place 
is to feel the dozer's bite 
and see the earth pluming 
off the dump trucks, brown 
flags of good-bye. 

Don't blame the machines,
they're following orders -- 
just earth themselves, 
smelted, hammered, ground. 

Don't blame the people, 
they're following 
what? 
It's complex, but oh, 
they're driven. 

To love a place 
is to mourn 
as its killers in their habits 
clank past.