They are raising Route 7 to federal standards
The north bound lane
Now level with the passenger window of our sedan
They are shearing off the tops of hills
For better sight lines
Removing 176,000 cubic yards of dirt
It’s the job of one man to find a place to put it all
Dump trucks pass our home every five minutes
On weekends the children and I prowl
Among dormant yellow Goliaths
As children explore
I try to remember what was
But my mind has already begun to rewrite history
Quietly Making Noise 