Forgotten Shields of the City

They lie flat, unnoticed underfoot,  

circles of stubborn iron geometry.  

Not currency, not sculpture, not toast,  

but markers of an underworld unseen.  

What savage council designed these lids,  

ribbed and rusted, branded with cryptic names?  

Bethlehem Steel, U.S. Foundry, names  

too heavy to lift, too plain to carve.  

Ornament not needed, a city's secret:  

its guts of steam, water, and obsolete wires.  

They endure the heat, the weight, the rain,  

outlasting potholes and stray patches of tar.  

Medals of unknown wars, uncelebrated unions,  

they gleam faintly when the sodium lights hit.  

Like forgotten oaths, they cannot break  

under the hammer of tire or shoe.  

One day, when the roads dissolve to mud,  

these symbols will still whisper of purpose.