It used to be a wreath
Nailed to the front door
Which told us:
A house of grief
Now it may be
The radio on the window sill
Permanently tuned
To Radio 4
Or the calendar on the kitchen wall
With more white spaces at weekends
Than it had before
Or one of a pair of tickets
For the Olivier stalls
A cash sale to a student
Queuing for returns
Or the red light on the answer phone
Unblinking
When you get home from work…
No messages
Now the house can be your body too
And you can carry a packet of loss
To work with you
In your belly
Like a kangaroo
It can be a sickness now
They’ll send you home
Yes home
Back to the dead red light
On the answerphone