Setting in Place

Across the street, the trucks are groaning.

They’re pouring the footings for the new build,

a grey slush sliding down a metal tongue.

It looks soft, almost like wet sand.

I stepped too close to the edge of the curb

and felt my heel sink into the margin.

A clean indentation of a heavy work boot

right where the sidewalk meets the new wall.

By noon, the sun will have baked it.

That mistake will be a permanent hole

that no amount of rain can wash out.

It’s hardening now, turning cold,

and I’m just walking away from the print.