Industry

We rode illegally
thinking we could fake our way
out of anything,
and what a disappointment
finding out how right we were.
This city exists for only us
and we keep to the alleys and fire
escapes,
eyes open for the dull ache of sirens
and syncopated rhythms of the old after dark,
skirting the parachute factory and years
around the defiant maypole smokestacks,
the holy trinity give or take,
rumbling.
Out in the hills,
it all burns the same.