Moving Day

Moving day here all too soon.
My job like many has vanished
only the city now has jobs.
Up at the crack of dawn
I do last minute chores.
The removal men arrive on  time
talk of planes flying into
New York towers some hours ago.
Sounds like a movie spectacular !
They and I keep packing,
no radio, TV, or phone,
no papers at the corner shop.
Pothead next door calls over the fence
that New York was attacked by terrorists !
The pot’s addled him this morning !
Removal men’s time is money which
unemployed people can not waste.
We drive my chattels to the city,
unload them in the tiny flat.
No phone again ! Ring telco from
my neighbour’s phone.

At last I find a newspaper. The photos
show two towers in New York
built on solid foundations,
each one surrounded by clouds of
black smoke, of white building dust,
with flames blazing from their upper windows
and singed sheets of paper fluttering down.
Reporters tell of planes ramming into the towers,
of people jumping or falling
from those high blazing windows.

My shaky towers of home and work
continue to disintegrate.
I learn new skills in a new job
and now get far less pay.
My new home is older, smaller
than the home I left behind.
Home networks fall apart,
some reconstitute.
A year later my life is
unrecognisable from what it used to be.

Moving Day

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