Dumping Ground

It was a wasteland, a dumping ground

a place where people brought the broken

and cast aside the no-longer-needed

there, rusted bedsprings flaking into dust

there, a doll’s head only one blue eye open

door-less oven mouth agape in frozen scream

dishes dashed into obscene shards

clock smashed face with only minute hand remaining

a roost of destruction beneath a gaggle of despair;

Here is where the rats feast as kings, bloat unafraid

here is where the insects tick their dusk dominion

here is where people carry

their broken and unwanted things

to rot back into the unhallowed earth

 

When the rains came they would wash through the rubble

carry out black burnt oil, oxidation, dirt

which would gather into puddles

and shine with rainbows

when the storms broke

 

“Don’t go here alone, if you can avoid it,”

my father said with his eyes to the sun,

his ringed hand weighted on the tailgate

“and never go here at night.”