Palsy
dreaming
Your
invented life
never came
back home.
The front
door still open
to your
little refugees.
The chapel’s
stone, now colder.
The hall is
black, like the wet slate roof.
The
floorboard’s worn fibre,
the only
record of heydays gone,
of standing
room only.
The walk to
school was only up the hill.
Learnt the
poetry in pierced sides,
the heart
and blood in rhythm and rhyme.
The majesty
all held up
by the
stenciled columns.
Then the
truth was bewoke aloud
by the grey
pin suited master himself.
Even drunks
stopped to listen,
baptised by
his spit.
When new
college came,
it took the
best, and with it
the anaemic
breath of a town.
Bramble grew
fast and thick,
while
decisions hung like washing lines.
They’ll
never come back.
They have
their own lives now.
Away from
this palsy dreaming.
Lucile in ruined school -- Leonardi Manuel
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