two windows, dull, sealed up with papers,
a broken door that's bolted shut
lets in the wind, cold, and the smut
from rotten beams rises like vapour.
a chair, a table b'reft of colours.
the room is large but it lacks light,
behind the fender's pitch-dark night.
my coat hangs there without a collar
on slanted wall denied the paper.
the floorboards creaking, crooked, holed.
a shaky bed, its pillow old.
the flowers that I sowed too late here
withered away.
And who you were I can no longer say.
Poem by Florian Weinhold. © 2014 Florian Weinhold. All rights reserved.
Photo by Joe Phelan/Kennebec Journal. Taken by F. Weinhold from http://www.pressherald.com/2016/04/05/ordinance-would-ban-boarded-up-windows/ (02/11/2017).