Newtown

watch me walk­ing down your streets
i’m in your veins
down there’s the duplex I lived in
9 years ago, deep in your belly,
under your skin, damp and cold
but carefree.

up there’s the ter­race where I came back to you
and you pun­ished me for leaving
squeez­ing me breath­less with lungs clogged
dust and moulds chok­ing me
and I sobbed for months on end.

in your foot­paths are secret mes­sages from me
some scrawled in wet cement
others care­fully craf­ted in lino blocks and cast
into tiles laid side by side, nestled.

then angel st, the leafi­ness of your reserves, the parks
I slept in to pro­tect you from the apart­ment blocks
which spread like influ­enza through you even now.

now here, embraced yet again by your high ceilings,
sur­roun­ded by friends.
I can’t afford you.

My rela­tion­ship with you will be forever tenuous.