Where do I put them?
Everywhere.
But first I retrieve
the racks –
part rib cage, part
derelict Christmas trees
and hang on them
as if it were
the festive season underwear,
vest, hanky, kurta –
the maisonette, upper
and lower floors, is populated
with celebratory ornaments
thrown on all
surfaces;
even the bannister’s wrapped
in pillow cases and duvet covers –
only the pyjamas
are martyrs; they’re crucified on
heaters no longer in use this summer;
they’re defeated, pure; they’ve given up
their soul to a truth that we
no longer can give credence to.