Unoccupied

There’s rats but that’s it.
They scurry about like they own the place.
They do.

And there’s homeless people.
But it’s not a home.
So, even if they crawl in here
at night for warmth and sleep,
they’re still homeless.

But no one’s using it
for a crack-house.
Too many cracks,
even for them.

Gentrification’s out.
The gentry want nothing to do with it.

Of course,
there’s always fire.
It’s taken up residence,
temporarily that is,
in a number of other neighborhood buildings.
Not sure why it turns its back on this one.
Maybe it has a phobia for water damage.

It’s a hollow edifice,
decrepit by day, ghostly by night.
Decrepit ghosts, most likely.

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in New World Writing, River And South and Dissident Voice. Latest books, Bittersweet, Subject Matters and Between Two Fires are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Paterson Literary Review, White Wall Review and Cantos. Read other articles by John.