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
electricity
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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Will Vigar 
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