Attic
It takes more than a step
ladder to reach the coccoon
stretched above us. 'Careful!'
She panics too much. We are
not here to steal history, rather
we pack it in bags and haul it
through heaven's door - the case
that brought her to England;
the suit she married; coats
still in their wrap, bought
on a payday whim. 'He knows,'
she tells us: 'he doesn't like
change.' The guard he left behind,
to keep her, watches us haul
the last vacuum-sucked sack
out of sight. 'Grrr,' I throat
and she smacks the floor
with her cable-thick tail.
It takes more than a step
ladder to reach the coccoon
stretched above us. 'Careful!'
She panics too much. We are
not here to steal history, rather
we pack it in bags and haul it
through heaven's door - the case
that brought her to England;
the suit she married; coats
still in their wrap, bought
on a payday whim. 'He knows,'
she tells us: 'he doesn't like
change.' The guard he left behind,
to keep her, watches us haul
the last vacuum-sucked sack
out of sight. 'Grrr,' I throat
and she smacks the floor
with her cable-thick tail.
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