Everywhere you look: Do Not Cross.
Ornamental trees are down or disappeared,
replaced by mounds of dirt spilling onto the sidewalks.
Broken glass glints on the ground,
something else to sidestep as we wait for nonexistent Walk signs.
Men in hard hats leaning out of skyscraper windows,
more plywood every time you go outside.
Lunch spots are busy like they always are,
but the table conversations are different.
Cell phone cameras are working overtime,
people craning their necks to see the tower.
Back to work.
Under-eye bags from sleepless nights, air-dried hair.
Everyone is hugging and swapping war stories:
tales of collapsed roofs, fallen trees, and lightning strikes,
narrow misses and near escapes.
"At least no one was hurt."
The conference room overflows with meetings,
discussing schedules and costs and how to help each other.
We take extra care to stop in every office, to talk to every colleague.
Driving home through ghost-town blocks with phantom street lights.
Past bustling restaurants and muted laughter.
Past flickering candles in windows and people talking on their porches.
Home to my cocoon of light and TV and normalcy and love.
Business as unusual.
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