Zero

They come here to look at nothing
to stare at it from behind a fence
just think
what it was like, look up
that double ell
then
get that replayed picture of hell
out of your mind

Exposed, the soft underbelly of New York
underground parking split open
we weren't supposed to see this
ugliness beneath the glossy stillness
steel splayed, a subway line, concrete,
steam coughing from vents, bring on Al Pacino
we'd rather reality wasn't real
our knowledge wasn't complete

Next door Burger King pock marked, shot at
with bits of it, and a whole skyscraper
Christo-wrapped like a widow, blackened windows
How colourless the space is
it's a cold and loveless day
dirty snow ploughed aside,
clumps of dead doves

A woman in red steps off a coach
"It was awesome
because it was right in the middle
of the city
and there was this pile of rubble."

People take photos of people
against a backdrop of nothing
but the noise of construction
grinding, welding, speaks --
in a place where gaudy is good
where hoardings that don't shout
or inject you with want
aren't worth the voltage,
where money is unreal
traded unseen --
speaks from the center,
the space between.