Maintenance Schedule for the Public Square

The city turned the pump off at noon

leaving the basin a shallow, gray wound.

I watched a man in yellow rubber boots

scoop up the sediment, the loose roots

of everything we hoped would come true

into a plastic bucket, stained and blue.

A nickel is fused to a Snickers wrap,

caught in a layer of black, oily sap.

It isn't luck when it’s caked in the grit,

or a wish once you've finally abandoned it.

He shovels the copper, the zinc, and the rust,

and dumps our intentions into the dust.