I want to implode myself
Demolish, crumble, rebuild
I arrange dynamite
And pray that I don't facilitate
The creation of an emotional strip mall
In place of the rich history contained
In the walls of the condemned structure
Photos featured on flyers petitioning beneath windshield wipers
"Save our history"
"All needn't perish in the quest for functionality"
Scrawled across a picket in my mind
I grip the sign with both hands
And rip it
Without noticing
That the perforated line leads
To an empty Target parking lot
That we once lent character to
Fortunately, I still have enough dynamite
All I need is a match
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