Tattered sofas sit in my lounge,
decrepit stairs hang from the second floor,
tiles stick underfoot in the kitchen
and stained wallpaper is peeling

Recently, I have been engaged in the act
of self-construction, of leaving a mark,
of stooping and shovelling the earth
in order to build a firm foundation

But work has lost its substance
Restrictive systems and rote learning
will not help students in the long run;
dappled light is a finer teacher

I flutter around school like a drone,
landing intermittently on the conveyor belt
When capacity does not meet the task,
ramparts of resolve erode

In my attic room, the floor shakes
as traffic rumbles outside,
and garish velvet curtains watch me,
their folds like dark gaping eyes