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  You are @ HomeAdults Poetry


Source: Adults

Author: Rhona Aitken

Title: When hammers hurt

The Auction Rooms spill lives;


collapsing under hammers.

I see our bed-head – not the bed,

it seems they never sell –

remembered marks on walnut

where our heads had rested.

At the table, where we sat,

a mirage of meals.

Then the couch. That soft, soft couch.

“At three hundred!

Last bid – it goes at three hundred.”

The hammer strikes

at me. I turn away,

too much hurts

my heart today.

Published on writebuzz®: Adults > Poetry

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