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.