Friday 18 February 2011

Brick City

“You should have seen all of this before the fire”,/
Another experience shut off and lost forever./
The lift shaft is empty but for rusty dangling cables,/
Trailing from the ceiling like the last hairs on a head./
Carpet curls its way up the stairs with melted edges,/
Doors - wedged half open - expanded in curves by heat./
Moss maps the floor where it’s not slick with oil/
And bent shelves are flecked with paint like octopus ink./
Diaries dated ‘72.  His name was Peter.  He was sad./
Hard to believe this summer beneath blue skies./
Someone has dragged an ancient sofa outside/
To do nothing but grow mould on the slate mound./
A fire safety notice sticks ironically to cracked plaster./
Creepers edge in hesitant fingers up window panes,/
Sneaking through new gaps to get at the sun./
A monitor dropped from a window is spread 2D on the floor/
And from the fourth floor you have an all round view,/
Tile and beams have caved in to free up the sky./
Now walls lie like carpet in this place, Brick City./

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