Poem: ‘Demolition’
Neil Rollinson, 5 April 2007
We can drop this building into a biscuit tin, all forty storeys, everything’s planned, down to the last inch; the pre-repairs, the pattern of charges: nitroglycerine, dynamite, RDX.
We study it for days, from high ground or the tops of other buildings, sorting our delay paths, checking sequences from other jobs. It’s an intuition. A sixth sense. We take the whole thing down in our...