Scrapers of the Sky
       

I swallowed a blue whale until it turned green,
then I spit it out. My name is not my own —
it was given to me — but when I
named myself skyscraper, pilots began to fly
airplanes over me because I loved to smile.
Skyscrapers aren't supposed to smile.
Outside the National Aquarium in Baltimore,
I saw a coy smile walking towards me
wearing red shoes with matching lipstick,
so I smiled in return. A jumbo jet
crashed into us, and I could no longer be a skyscraper.
I'm now a wooden shack, with an aluminum roof
and a dirt floor. I no longer smile.
Helicopters hover over our shanty town, lights beaming
late into the night to make sure we all remain sad.

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Copyright © 2017 Steve Castro All rights reserved
from Green Mountains Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission