21 July 2010

The World's End

They’ve finished the job.

But that sprayed-on render’s
a poor match for the original paintwork;

the hatch, where the barrels
tumbled each week into the cavernous dark,
inexpertly filled with aggregate;

and the old block-and-tackle,
that looked like something out of Bosch,
wrenched from the retaining wall six months ago
when the brewery stopped deliveries.

Hard to believe the world has ended so.

The lumber-room of a bar
is empty now, and smooth, and clean:
mere sunlight
where we used to drink or sing or
fall asleep beneath the bike and the stuffed animals.

And I remember that New Year, five years ago:
the three of us - for some reason best forgotten
all dolled up in nightdresses – dancing,

and that curious collection
of battery-powered torches from the 70s
somebody had arranged as a table decoration,

or a shrine.