My House C/O The Cobourg Tavern and Inn

 This is the flat I lived in In Vitro
From the maternity hospital with my sick mother
I left the flat as a tiny, tiny baby
So Aunty Susan could rear me for a few (six?) months
Till mum’s back healed a little.

O tiny cry
O small defect of life
O hand
O head
O heart

Where is my baby?
where am I?
The mother undone by birth.
The baby whisked this way and that.

O hand, O eye, O mouth
Sensible from birth of the order
And priority of others.

Conditioned to silence
Conditioned to be alone
Extreme isolation and loss.

Here I am outside my flat
19 Queen Square
Now part of a Thai Restaurant.

Here is my window
A lady industriously moves behind
The lit glass
Rush, slush
Brush, shush,
Chop, click, sizzle
Back and forth she walks quickly.

Round the back – no change
Three guys in hoodies with bottles
The door painted black and Georgian
The top light showing the lit
Yellow stair-well up to our flat.

Above, the window is black and blank
Looking into the square.
Once as a two year old I went out with
Our dog George to the Cobourg Tavern and Inn
We two, our team
In we went, I saw a lot of
Men’s knees and crotches
Shuffling fag ends falling
To the wooden floor
Crushed by toe and heel.

Just me and the dog
Till someone saw. A woman.
And took us home.

Soon after it was time to
Move to Grimshaw’s house
But not yet – not till all the
Cherry trees in Queen Square
Covered the green green grass
In a flutter of pink tissue.

Giving the winos a lovely
Divan to rest on
As they drank
And I stood and watched with the dog
Till Dad came and shouted at the men

In swear language and marched me inside.

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