(This poem was written for The Listeners Project where the brief is to respond to a space that is about be demolished or changed. The Adel Rootstein Mannequin Factory at dusk was the creepy setting for my piece. It had been opened 57 years previous.
Here is the link to video: https://vimeo.com/197206852)
The rusty hands of time stop,
As he enters the room.
Quin the man – the malaprop
In his party’s throbbing womb.
We are many other people,
Before we become ourselves.
This cast of guests all equal,
Picking lives out from the shelves.
The half boy, headless Harry and her, Have that eve imprinted on their past.
As she glimmered on the edge,
His eyes dropped to his heart.
He strode into his pledge,
From the mould was cast her art.
Candles light his crackling features,
“Wasn’t last night a helluva soirée?”
But Quin my dear, she says
“That was 58 years ago today.”