Reduced to Rubble | Greg Peterson

The wrecking ball on the end of my machine
Swings like a dizzy fly: I punch
Structures with the force of an air strike.

Broken pieces fall
Like birds shot
From the sky.
They shatter
like a vase.

The structure
Releases its debris cloud
Like the fumes of an old car.

I control the fate
Of homes and businesses
With the pull of a lever.

My man-made
Machine grants me
Godly power.