Demolition

A dad stands with his lad and a teen looks up from her phone at the high street demolition.

A pretty Polish 19 year old is the restless Yes-Man behind the android arm.

It swings and destroys another wall. The spectator’s eyes brighten, a quiet gasp, a flicker of action, a fleeting fixation.

Some onlookers are shook as a childhood book club crumbles to a hump of dust and rubble.

Elsewhere others cheer the flattening of a mouldy old rodent-hole that was once the home of a woeful crone. Oh, if those walls could talk they’d scream for their own damned euthanasia.

Mercy killings of the decrepit and destitute.

A taxi driver winds down his window to get a better view, wonderstruck by the erotic robotics and deconstruction.

Exciting new venue becomes a mawkish joke; beckon the wrecking ball.

Manor house becomes stale old eyesore; beckon the wrecking ball.

A HMV becomes an artefact from another time; beckon the wrecking ball.

Wrecking ball shop is realised as a ridiculous business venture; beckon the wrecking ball…

In China a chubby child watches and dreams of destroying his school one day. His teacher next to him dreams the exact same thing.

It instils hope in young architecture students as they stop and stare on their lunch break.

It’s chaotic and disorderly, yet carefully planned. Controlled but uncontrollable. Destructive to some, constructive to others. Productive yet quite the opposite.

Construction has the same power to catch eyes and hearts, but for now the people stand peacefully and watch the Demolition.

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