In the eternal Chartist theme park,
there is no charge on care only
buttercups, bread and
the dignity of labour.
In this other May Day I am still your home
there are no eviction metaphors
—force is unthinkable.
Only the force of loving which powers an
economy of woodcuts, wallpaper
the singular identity we dance around
a little burnt by too much outside.
Instead, in April, I am done with choice.
March bled out on the rented sofa,
I paid my union dues, went back to work—
A lifetime or one month later
I will say of the park:
could well be our garden
insofar as we might
be locked out at any moment and
am pleased with such wit in the face of
total dispossession of,
yes, even springtime!
love, as far as I can see
which is the City, so
in the crook between shoulder and chest
I'll rest, burrow in for a quick late equinox
revolting, is the best foot forward, revolving
for the day that's in it's
dactylic one sec turn in the night, ask:
was that my tenant? did I let badly?
Caitlín Doherty is a writer and researcher in London. She is the poetry editor of Salvage. Her most recent pamphlet, England, is available through Sad Press.
TENANCY is a MAP project in twelve parts, presenting new work considering what it means to occupy somewhere–or something–temporarily. The project is curated by Helen Charman, MAP Commissioning Editor.