Patina’s Claim

Raincoat brushes rusted iron,

wet breath on cold metal.

Green spreads slow—

a fungus of corrosion,

spreading like tired moss.

Patches flake, peel, and fold,

a quiet siege on bars forgotten,

color curling in the damp,

stubborn and relentless.

The sky dulls above,

a witness to the slow undoing,

and I lean close,

feeling the bite of time

etching stories in green.