Zero

June sixteenth, seven o'clock am, twelve degrees and blue sky, a hundred birds perched on the roofs, my two eyes fixed on the window, looking at the train passing at a thousand kilometers an hour, the first that every eight accurate minutes will pass with his ten compositions, at any of the twenty-two stations created six months ago, after eighteen years of delayed works, fourteen workers killed, and millions missing In the four pockets of a dishonest politician.

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L Milton Hankins

Date: 5/18/2022 7:23:00 PM

Powerful words presented with sharp images, Marco. And, an indictment of the careless handling of real lives by those who are supposed to serve. Good writing.

Marco Chies
Date: 5/18/2022 7:29:00 PM

Thank you very much Milton. I spread numbers throughout the verses, with the intention of creating a sense of quantity, of value...