Grenfell by Lisa Rossetti

I am not a silent poet

Those stairs’ll be the death of me,

Her mother pants as she hauls the pushchair

up the final steps to her daughter’s flat.

Why can’t they fix the bloody lifts? Get it sorted?

She shrugs. Nothing works round here, Mum. We keep telling ‘em.

Yeah, she sighs. They don’t listen. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, ok?

She watches her mother slowly disappear,

Trudging up the gloomy stairwell.

She calls out after her, Lights not working again?

In her kitchen she tips cornflakes into his Batman bowl,

grabs some cat food from the fridge. The light flickers inside

on and off, on and off.  She kicks the fridge door shut.

Scooping up his cereal he shouts, Sing me the song, Mum!

He learnt a new one today at nursery – such a clever boy!

And handsome, they said to her. Sure to break a few hearts!


She pulls…

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