Yellow

(In honor of October 1917)

A feat of engineering,
constructed on a hillside.
A tunnel, a pipe, 
and a channel.
A concrete water slide.
I walk the winding path
to the peak of the hill.
I search for the valve.
The massive on wheel
for the sewer mechanism.
I give the wheel a firm
twist and I hang over
the cliff edge.
Yellow liquid sprays from
everywhere, gushing down the tube.
Pineapple yellow, acidic, splashing
down on town below. 
The old houses, with their 
ghosts and demons,
crumble like sand castle.
The old black and whites
of the tsars corrode into
debris.