Development

 Development

There’s a house I especially like

On one of my London walks.

Small and flatroofed,

Leaning against its larger neighbour,

It might once have been an annex or a stable,

Except the side columns of the front door

And the large, arched windows of its upper floor

Suggest something more ambitious.

 

I liked to imagine living there.

It’s in a quiet neighbourhood,

And is exactly the right size.

 

But when I passed by a few weeks ago,

Beige hordings had been erected in front of it,

Bearing the name of the developer who

Was no doubt converting it into something

Suitable for sale by The Modern House.

 

Yet the door still smiles, lipstick red,

Between the arms of the hoardings.

And the red rambler rose

That climbs the front wall,

Planted by loving hands

In some half-forgotten year,

Is just coming into bloom.