Will the last person to leave…
please leave empty cans piled into pyramids
in each corner. Some of these may fall
like civilisations, others may not.
Food waste and packaging will be neatly bagged.
These bags will fill each cupboard to indigestion level.
When each cupboard is full the wrappers
must decorate the floors in esoteric patterns.
Leave one sleeping bag open and careless
for a mattress. A second sleeping bag will be left
zipped and slumped in such a position
as to suggest a bodybag in daylight hours
or a body by torchlight.
Seventeen slates will be removed from the roof
to let the rain in. This will rot the floorboards and joists
of the upper floor and, in turn, allow the rain
into the ground floor to puddle the tiles
and create a carpet of moss.
Lath-bones must be exposed.
Please leave three pairs of shoes in a neat line.
Black oxfords; brown brogues; Hi-Tec trainers.
Beside these leave a stack of lifestyle magazines
opened at choice pages to confuse the inquisitive.
Remove a single hinge from each door
and window so that they hang askew.
Pigeon skeletons will be collected and scattered;
one carcass will be hung by its feet from crossed rafters
on a frayed piece of blue polypropylene rope.
Please remove the loft hatch and leave your spirit
in the shadows to look down on those who trespass.
John C. Nash finally settled down as a self-employed bookbinder and writer in Northampton, England. His poetry has been published in various magazines including Antiphon, Cake, The Delinquent, Verse Kraken and Lighthouse . He co-edited the anthology Making Contact for Ravenshead Press and is currently working on a collaborative project with the photographer Sam Webster.