by Joe Blades © 2006
barracks room upstairs locked
through the windows see beds
the fireplace in the end wall
a table with tin plates and cups
earthenware bowls and pitchers
or water or milk or ale or . . .
and the archaeological services
office is not welcoming—sign
on the door states visitations
by appointment only as if
british army ghosts carry
daily planners with them
disembodied and waiting
happy birthday on bagpipes
for someone out of sight
yet within hearing range
the wooden everything
within SOLDrs Bk A intact
no cold weather destruction
of table chairs and cupboards
for its short-term burning
for warmth or its illusion
evident after all the army
allocated coal was consumed
anything burnable would do
even doors and window frames
whose removal simply admitted
more wind and drifting snow
in the miserable long cold winter
far from home across the atlantic
and some never made in back
died and were interred
in the old burial ground
established 1784 between
brunswick and george streets
T-shirt: Sage Hill Writing Experience
loc: munitions casemate
temp: 19 C, raining
sound: Pocket Dwellers, "A.I."
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