The Q-4s and M-7s we leave behind

just a poem

I used to skate through the clusters

past the little tangerine doors

the windows filled with shiny glass things

the little grey figurines in the beds of ivy

of M and N

where little, massed produced cottages sat

when I went to my grandmother's house.

But then she moved to Q

to a smaller little shack

and I watched her give away

20 years of life

in that apparptment

Then she began to

loose her sight,

and I saw her, and helped her 

give away the rest

to live in the high rise next door.

I've been back skating

through M and N

then Q and P

But it only makes me think

of what is lost.

The End

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