we hear that thing you do -
laughing that
turns to crying -
mad bitch,
it’s got to stop"....
Part Seven
BREACHED
BREACHED
No armour left for worst collision,
humiliation defiling mourning
with shame - I
am no longer a plaintiff,
I am the
accused,
a fool to indulge grief in solitude.
a fool to indulge grief in solitude.
Tasteless timing of a joke while she was dying
-
neighbours
from hell moved in,
hammering and banging,
maximizing assets,
maximizing assets,
bankerosion of London’s old bohemia.
They had
their own satanic hound,
(small terrier
breed, admittedly)
howling and
yapping alone all
day.
Noise from below (newly rich, entrenching)
disdain from above (too nonchalent to care);
disdain from above (too nonchalent to care);
feeling squeezed
out of her home,
a dying woman said:
“We are not wanted here.
We’ve
got to move!”
After she died, they had a party
and
put me up for demolition,
plaster
boundary hacked away
exposing my naked
grieving,
night and day keening,
like an abandoned
dog,
a nuisance in the house of improvement.
Tit for tat, shifting guilt,
every noise in flimsy rodentine terraced street
was falsely attributed by them to me:
loud music on an afternoon I was out,
some other woman’s screams at two a.m.
when she threw her lover out
while the rest of us tried to sleep -
a nuisance in the house of improvement.
Tit for tat, shifting guilt,
every noise in flimsy rodentine terraced street
was falsely attributed by them to me:
loud music on an afternoon I was out,
some other woman’s screams at two a.m.
when she threw her lover out
while the rest of us tried to sleep -
I, the war of anger and compassion playing out,
(that foolish old man haunted me;
breaking off had been unkind,
but he’d not been kind to me)
beat my pillow while tormenting thoughts
of hurt or being hurt flung me from side to side,
not knowing they could hear the creaking sofa bed
from down below -
(that foolish old man haunted me;
breaking off had been unkind,
but he’d not been kind to me)
beat my pillow while tormenting thoughts
of hurt or being hurt flung me from side to side,
not knowing they could hear the creaking sofa bed
from down below -
they ambushed me one evening
when I left the house
and chanted after me up the road:
“Mad bitch, mad bitch,
it's that mad bitch who jumps on the floor
in the middle of the night”.
First you lose all you love,
then you lose your dignity.
What were they about, my bogeymen,
gentrification thwarted by mortality and credit crunch?
Familiar sensation as I walk ahead
that it is my fault I am pulling them in,
playground bullies once again;
but these were aspirational people
buying into London's property market,
now finger-pointing in the street:
when I left the house
and chanted after me up the road:
“Mad bitch, mad bitch,
it's that mad bitch who jumps on the floor
in the middle of the night”.
First you lose all you love,
then you lose your dignity.
What were they about, my bogeymen,
gentrification thwarted by mortality and credit crunch?
Familiar sensation as I walk ahead
that it is my fault I am pulling them in,
playground bullies once again;
but these were aspirational people
buying into London's property market,
now finger-pointing in the street:
“We hear That
Thing you do,
laughing that
turns to crying.”
(the only allegation that was true)
“Mad bitch,
it’s got to stop."
(I glimpse the dog, quiet for once,
approvingly looking on)
(I glimpse the dog, quiet for once,
approvingly looking on)
The finger jabs again to insist
"This is not harrassment!"
"This is not harrassment!"
Futile to
explain myself to enemies
bound to believe the worst -
truth is never proof against faith in lies -
so for
appearances’sake,
(there's an audience at the bus stop)
“Get your facts right!”
(there's an audience at the bus stop)
“Get your facts right!”
I shout at their retreating backs,
the agents of my
abasement,
two short men and a tiny dog.
“Call the police" advises
witness,
old gentleman, from his
accent
maybe once a refugee,
maybe once a refugee,
but it's too
late to clear my name:
my home's for sale, my flight's already booked,
in escape that felt like eviction.
They want our garden flat.
in escape that felt like eviction.
They want our garden flat.
THE INDULGENCE OF GRIEF IN SOLITUDE
