You hear her before you see her, a-scraping and a-scouring, a rumble in the Earth
before the city wakes.
Hidden sparks! The monotonous drone of bored machinery! A desperate cry for help, perhaps, or just dead inside and out…
The fluorescent men who ride her, all bleary-eyed and lifeless, are
of it all! It’s just the same old shit, different day, over and over and over again…
But she roars, how she roars! A flood of lights swarming all about her like honeybees in spring! The morning birds, their song, it drowns beneath that glorious wreck!
A hundred eyes in a hundred homes open, sudden and wide. It’s morning, she cries, Coventry’s Pride, and I’ve come to wash away your sin!
READING: Sometimes a Wild God, by Tom Hirons.