Monday, 20 May 2013

On the Rookery Estate

I’m waiting for the lift so long
that I make instead for the stairs,
where three blokes in boilersuits

are folding them up like origami:
each step concertina-ing,
swim-lanes of activity;

the finials, likewise, tumbling together;
the balustrades collapsing into a knapsack,
to be carried off, I’m told,

to fill the gap between
the guildhall and its annexe
in a much more salubrious part of town.

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