Building Blocks


Ah, those old houses first partition and conversion then demolition


their great wooden ribs and frames knots of dry rot, three junk joists


piled high on bonfires of red and yellow fire large swaths of ground cleared


by the wrecking ball


the sliced open houses for all to see gable still standing, half-floors sad fireplaces and odd angled staircases:


no one cares for history anymore no one is interested in who lived before


but in the rooms I occupy a young woman hanged herself with flex


from the ceiling


plain shoes dancing against the walls – for none to hear – she even put a shilling in the meter


yet no one knows for love or despair not even her name is remembered.


How do I sleep at night in the stillness? the creak, creak


5


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