If They Could Talk Poem by jan oskar hansen

If They Could Talk.

The walls in the bedroom were once creamy
reflecting the former occupants middle class
pretensions, now they were just winter grey
and sad as only walls can be that have had their
favourite pictures removed and placed on walls
unknown, in a new home in some out of town
housing estate.

Not only the bedroom but every wall, ceiling
and floor of this two story house were bare, it
only housed a ghosts that was adapt at stealing
copy pens, it was standing there by the curtain
less window in the living room (what irony)
contemplating if it should move into the office
block across the road only they didn’t use pens
there anymore.

People wrote words on a screen and sent them
into a void or to people who deleted them before
reading what had been written. Morning now,
the common soul of every plank in the house
and waited for executioners, in overalls, to come
end the old order of things and build a shiny new
city centre, with rings roads, supermarkets and
a grand opera house.