Snowplow (Oh, blader of mine)

A poem by Trent James Wilkie

Following behind you on a slushy, bog like road,
your visage portrays a timeless tale
of days when your shivering metal hulk
would slash through the neolithic snows
upturning rocks and the corpses of your enemies,
as you clear a spark laden path 
for humanity’s future.

Stay back 15 meters?
I would have to stay back a hundred
to allow my eyes to fully engorge themselves
on your opulent majesty.

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