​Grenfell, what with your toothless

topmost                                   floor

and all those pink and plastic

bags                 lying                inside you

like small, cellophaned kidneys

pre-packaged

bird livers

out the window

souls

your punctured carcass

a skeleton obscenely burned

an animal flesh-eaten, standing up

bombed on the cross

 

 

as all around life goes on

the tube stops and starts         the birds

glide and twist                        the houses

and the stores                          and the views

are renovated

you, standing sickly torso you            you, standing trunk     you standing

between the city’s legs                                         loins of London