where a worry of woodlice
left their footprints in dust
the paint started peeling
locks turned to rust
plasterwork crumbled
water poured in
wallpaper faded
the carpets wore thin
beneath tarnished reflections
in a collection of clutter
from the blue to the red
and the very last flutter
behind curtains part opened
and windows half closed
hung the faces of people
serenaded in prose
as history floundered
where the coal turned to dust
the ovens left cold
with our last daily crust
I think the rhyme scheme fits really well with the context of the poem. Perhaps stanza 3 is being driven too hard by the rhyme and I wonder if it’s really necessary. Slight nit-pick in last stanza, do you need ‘the’ in front of coal? I also wondered if there was any mileage in the ovens beginning this stanza and the coal ending it but that’s just for experimental purposes!
thanks Robbie – grateful to Liz who told us that she remembers when the house first opened and the ovens were still baking fresh bread for the public to buy – so many stories
I love the worry of woodlice!