Author Information
The Last House
There was once an estate
Painted in such colours as white
With asphalt roads and street lights so bright.
It had a pool for the ladies on sunny days
And a field to keep the boys shining in sweat,
Wrestling for the ball in so many ways.
The houses had no fence
And all were friends with all.
A jolly estate with gay weather it was.
But there was one house, the last house it was.
One house that made no difference
in all its seeming complacence,
With arrowed gates so tall
And wired fence hiding in the clouds.
The house stood as an empty mall
With an expensive paint job of black
And a roof that had no words.
It had a door with a fallen face.
It had a field thirsty of sweat
And a pool going dry.
No one saw no one go in
No one saw no one go out.
But I see his face through the attic window.
I stare at him and he returns the stare.
When I blink, so does he.
When I talk, so does he.
He likes his attic as do I.
He is my only friend.
