This empty house offers no comfort;
hollow walls holding the sounds
of those who’ve passed through before
and are here no longer, and will never
breathe into the brickwork again.
There is a history, and there is an
of present tense behind the door.
Marijuana hidden in kitchen drawers
from the prying eyes of landlords
when they visit weekly, sole visitor
to witness the weakness within.
Tequila stains on the tobacco
table-top, bottles piled high
in the recycling bin outside.
Towel hung on the washing line
for what seems like months. Cold
showers, drying off in the kitchen.
Chichester, May 2017