A Sign Of Things To Come

The house opposite, though similar ,

Stood out in the row, like a bad tooth on a set of dentures,

As did the old occupant who drew its dirty yellow curtains at night

and shuffled to the shop on a Sunday for The Express.

When he died, the dirty crumbling walls looked wearily on

At the skip out front. There were no relatives (at least none that cared)

only absolutes. It was the builders who threw in his

belongings.

They rendered the place; fixed the roof; whitewashed the walls; built a gravel path; planted a flower

bed, and before you knew it, the 'SOLD' sign had gone up.