No one digs in the corners
Where the smell festers deepest.
Their shovels just clang and clack
On the crumbled poured cement
That’s broken in the centre
Because it lifts easier
that grey concrete rubble bow

Where the walls join together,
Connected to the cold ground:
Below the record player,
That knew only but one song
At entirely the wrong speed:
Is where she lays, still waiting,
Still wasting, still wailing out.

No one will ever find her.
The ammonia stings their eyes
Should they wander close enough
To spot the fresh plaster marks,
Or the abandoned teddy
Adorned with a bow, alas,
No one digs in the corners.