day to day
week on week
six soulless months
have ambled by,
reluctantly the
family buzzards
have circled, landed
and finally picked
the carcass clean,
next week
new folk arrive,
children’s voices
trilling, trailing
around their feet,
the sad thing is
for evermore, it
won’t be Joe’s,
just No 4.
© GRS 5/25
Sun 18th May 2025 07:56
Good morning Graham,
This one really lingered with me. The quiet grief beneath the surface — the way time moves on, how spaces are emptied, repurposed, renamed — it’s all captured so sparely and truthfully. That last line hit hard. It was Joe’s, and somehow still is, even if the world forgets. Beautifully done.
— Rolph
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John Coopey
Sun 18th May 2025 09:26
Sometimes homes outlive us; sometimes we outlive our homes.