October 6, 2015

 

 

The house is still standing;

I drove passed, only last year,

and wondered if my forgotten copy

of ‘The Water Babies’ was still in the loft.

 

The nightmare is still in there.

I remember the chair by the sideboard,

where I sat in despair; unable to focus,

too bewildered to care.

 

The past is still in there,

wrapped up in cobwebs, individually rare.

The house abandoned at speed

when bombshells fell out of night air.

 

 

 

 

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