There is a wrecking ball outside my bedroom window
waving around like the last candle blown out on a birthday cake.
It is controlled by my mind
and I know that if I ignore a phone-call
walk past a lady collecting for charity
or tell lies to make my day go quicker
then one afternoon I will come back,
my house will have a bowling ball chunk
where my bedroom used to be
and people will congregate in the car park
watching blocks of flats around us collapse
like a community shrugging its shoulders.
