Will Vigar

poet. writer. imposter.

The Urban Prairie

The title poem of my upcoming book and dissertation!


Rooms seeping

for pointing north;

a coal head for

illumination and air;

coal fire that gave

light and warmth;

a griddle hanging

under the chimney

breast to cook on;

a gate latch for security.

Two dank rooms filled

with mould and wheezing

but nothing left

to steal.


Stepping from the mudded

floor, we would have

turned out the light

and locked the door

behind us if we’d had


or a key, the first

of the pioneers

to reach the heights

of windows and light,

leccy and lock.


We borrowed a trolley

and placed what little we had

on splintered wood

with rusted axle,

that ground and screeched

like Indians on horseback

whooping for scalps,

as it rolled down the wild

Westmoreland Street

in search of

the promised landing.


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