As the orange-red dusk of the sky meets the earth,
it stands there straight, tall, proud.
A fish out of water,
it pokes straight out above the level sea of black rooftops.
Its iron-hard body reaches up toward the darkening sky,
with its four-legged frame supported by brown-metaled bars.
Such bars form quite a captivating sight of geometric triangles,
In which right, scalene, and equilateral
riddle the frame from its rectangular head,
down through its widening body,
and diminishing away at each of its four feet.
All surround a giant upside-down isosceles in the middle.
From its top its thick, black power lines reach out,
on both sides to connect with its brothers some distance away.
From our window my sister stares at the giant, foreboding structure,
trying to read the small square-white sign at the bottom of the isosceles,
in which the red letters of DANGER are printed,
Asking, "Could the antennae tower in the backyard fall on our house?"
