There is a final demand

There is a final demand

In the letterbox

It’s been in there for a week

The electric will be cut

Before the next quarter

Even as the bombs fall

The house is long gone

Ash and bone

A letterbox,

A final demand,

When will the madness stop?

They will collect the taxes

Take it straight from the source

Pay as you earn

On the frontline

Which is in next door’s backyard

Behind the greenhouse

There is no glass in it now

But it has been raining and the tomatoes

Are doing well

Cherry red

Ripe as the ruby lips

On the poster advertising

Dental hygiene

Hanging from a broken wall by the arches

They have fallen,

Along with the Wisteria

That had taken years to grow

Up by the window

Of number six

Where the blond girl used to live

She’s not there now

Neither is the house

But the front door is still standing

The doorbell still works.

The letterbox

Is polished brass

And it is stuffed, full to overflowing,

They haven’t cut off the electric,

Not yet.

I think that’s a good sign.

At least they

Have time to make the payment

If they get a wriggle on.

Although the Post Office

In the High Street is

A bomb shelter now

The bank is a field hospital,

The vault is a mortuary.

You can make a deposit

But there are no withdrawals.

Making do is a miracle

Of ingenuity

It’s all blood, dust

And sticking plasters

These days.