The Tower

Rickity pickets

Taken from an old fence

Piles of debris

Awaiting proper placement

“Where is the architect?”

You call from the wings.

“The design is not yet stamped”, they say

“By the Bureau of Rules and Regulations”

(Even though I stood in line for hours

My name never called)

My head swivels on its axis

Eyes peeled for something new

“Show yourself,” I shout!

“Must I stand alone?”

“Why do you look to the past”, they cry. 

“Give up the old ghosts”

“Power in the tower is gone”

“Your hands hold the hammer”

“Pick up a nail”

“And get cracking”