-
A murmuring fan speeds on
In an empty sunlit room
The answers are all long gone
Dead, it’s presumed.
All the belongings placed there,
Just as they were a year ago.
Radio waves still in these very beds.
A half empty tea up,
All layered up in the dirt and fungi.
The chairs at the table misaligned,
Like you’d just heard it scrape the floor.
You could picture a man dart to the window,
As the explosion broke miles away
Alas, it’s the same story repeated
In the thousand houses around.
