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 cannot 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. Photos
show two towers in New York
built on solid foundations,
billowing clouds of black smoke,
white building dust, flames
blazing from upper windows
singed sheets of paper fluttering.
Reporters tell of planes ramming
into the towers, of people jumping
falling from those high blazing
windows, billowing flames.

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 was
unrecognisable from
what it used to be.

Originally posted 25 March 2016.

Moving Day