Left Behind

Forgotten

 

I’m on Lonely Street, number fifty three.
Boarded up property,
I’ll probably get pulled down.
Litter all around inside there’s
no sound and no light.
But yo it gets busy at night, People creeping.
Derelicts sneaking to fix. Speaking.
On the way my timbers creaking,
Roof leaking. And bricks coming loose,
knee high in refuse.
But even though I’m a slum,
I’m still of some use.
There was a time when my walls where decorated.
And under my roof children where educated.
But now paint’s faded, windows are all smashed,
a crash in the economy robbed me of my family.
And no strategy, combats negative equity,
so that’s it. Like violence it’s drastic.
I’m freaking, and seeking to be
more than just a house for crack.
Somebody bring my family back.

 

 

The decorators Garden

The Decorators Garden

Rusty paint tins, half used lay abandoned alongside a rotting brush whilst the decorator waits by the phone. Willing it to ring, as if thoughts alone can bring in some work to pay the bills and feed the family.