John Porter

Where it had stood

was now just holes and rubble,
signs warning of wires and
the house gone
like a wrenched tooth. Wind making
tentative flutters
still respecting walls not yet
aware they’d fallen, gently teasing
and releasing glimpses
trapped liked rats in sealed tombs,
coy looks, first smiles, silent meals and
furtive fucks,
ghosting away on the breeze.

© John Porter

Just holding on

Red crates stacked in the corner
ready for packing, during the meeting
I did not see them
but later on the train then in the
coffee shop, more. And people seemed
on edge trying to rush through conversations
and when I looked back down the path
the to and fro crowd
were slumped liked zombies
until shamed by my gaze, they snapped up,
went on their way.

© John Porter