Halloween Poem – When moving into ghost town

When you move into a ghost town,

The house will be cold.

 

The pipes will be frozen, a river

Patient to the thaw. The fridge

will smell of soured milk, and of old letters

Browning on the mat.

 

The hanging baskets – so aptly named-

Drip dust upon the porch,

 

and the cat

Long Gone, in search of better company.

 

When you move into a ghost town,

All the shops will be closed.

 

The streets will be empty, Ivy

falling from every window, and the silence,

a forgetting memory – of footsteps and the tarmac

Greying at the edges

 

When you move into a ghost town

The clocks will

have all stopped.

 

Time is only for the living.

 

~Natasha Borton

 

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