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