The House

Is silent

(on the wireless something forgettable)

Its windows unbroken,

Nailed down

(curtains rippling)

Lock popped and

(in answer to his grandson’s question)

The front door’s opening

(it’s just the breeze he says)

And a man explores from cock loft (floorboards creak)

To glory hole

(doors just slam sometimes)

Finds nothing

(as on her bed settee)

So finally gives up the ghost

(Nan is dreaming)

Resumes his car

(a future she’ll not live to see)





Kevin Patrick McCann
Illustration Nick Victor


A new book of poems

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