Poem 352

Leaving the flat (Poem 331) and along with the flat a relationship, a city, a life … the liminal moments of entry and departure we tend to remember …

… it was called Kentucky Fried Chicken back then – McDonalds had only opened that year in Hamilton …

Last Night In Myrtle Street

The truck came a day early
and took all your things away
leaving us eating 
                                    Kentucky Fried Chicken
on the floor

the bare cardboard house groaned around us
cooked until it was brittle
the hinges of the windows
cracked like old bones
outside the door you could hear
the grass growing
but it wouldn't be us
who had to mow it

we slept on the floor
rolled up in blankets
everything was almost gone
but still the house was thick with you and I
with our skin
our voices pushed to the back
of the cupboards
our shared intimate knowledge
of where the doors swung
in the dark
                      with the smell
that the three of us
had finally agreed upon