For my neighbour

All day, through a pack of plasterboard,
my conchiglie ear’s noted knocks and scuffs.
I think the neighbour is curating furniture.
I think the neighbour is inventing rooms.
I think the neighbour is moving.
I think we have new neighbours.
I think we have new neighbours and I have not noticed vans.
I think that the neighbour has died
I think that the neighbour has died and her son
has taken a week off work to clear the house.

My uncle did that once.
Took annual leave
drove a blue van into the yard
and threw chairs out of windows.
For his mother.