Mirror and chair are just lying there
On the pavement.
Her Sunday best, bundled like rags
In black plastic bags
On the pavement.
Her treasures and pictures, pleasures denied
Are discarded now
On the pavement.
The fridge, the Telly, the brown picture of Nelly
A history lost
On the pavement.
He came in a van,
The house clearance man.
He put all her things, her pots and her pans
On the pavement.
All of her life, as a mother and wife,
For all to survey
On the pavement.
To him it’s just junk, just fit for the dump,
No emotion involved.
On the pavement.
If you read the last episode of my blog then you will know exactly what inspired this poem.
On the pavement.
Her Sunday best, bundled like rags
In black plastic bags
On the pavement.
Her treasures and pictures, pleasures denied
Are discarded now
On the pavement.
The fridge, the Telly, the brown picture of Nelly
A history lost
On the pavement.
He came in a van,
The house clearance man.
He put all her things, her pots and her pans
On the pavement.
All of her life, as a mother and wife,
For all to survey
On the pavement.
To him it’s just junk, just fit for the dump,
No emotion involved.
On the pavement.
If you read the last episode of my blog then you will know exactly what inspired this poem.