vacant lot

The bed of earth and gravel
resembles a giant grave
surrounded by two asphalt driveways
and the parking lot at back,
slopes upward away from the
busy street and concrete sidewalk.

It is long and narrow.
I almost expect to see a headstone.
There is nothing buried here;
the long clawed arm removed all
as a primitive dentist extracts a tooth.

The brick house, lately The Java House,
seems reluctant to
give up seventy years of situation,
but sits like a ghostly grandmother
haunting the plot at night.

So much is gone: so many vacant lots,
so much impermanence remains.
The past is lost has gone is dead.
The only regret seems to be held
in the ghosts of scattered bricks.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
This entry was posted in aging, Mild-mannered opinion, Poetry, Screeds, thoughts below ground and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to vacant lot

  1. danaeMcC says:

    Oh, I do like this spooky portrayal of the vacant lot. Impressive word play twofer: “impermanence remains.” (grin) I wonder if “phantom grandmother” would suit it, since there are ghosts a few lines farther on.

    Very nice contribution to the mood of the season! Thanks!

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