This is my second attempt at poetry and is on the subject of housing. I couldn’t think of a decent title and probably need to work on my formatting, but I enjoyed writing it. As before, any comments, likes, not likes or cheques in the post are welcome.
“Can I help you?” asks the man in the shirt and tie. I look at him and think, well, can you? Can you cut house prices by
40%? Can you force developers to build actual affordable housing that isn’t like stacked containers, replicated in their thousands?
No, I want to say. You can’t. Because what I’m asking for is about as fantastical as the Gallagher brothers being reunited in a musical.
But is it really so far gone, to want to buy a place to call your own and stop pouring cash down the blackhole called Rent, leaving you at the mercy of an agent, just in it for the payment that wires its way to the landlord in some far and distant land?
Hand in hand, they eliminate the dream. Another investment opportunity taking precedent over any sentimental notions of a house to call home.
Where it’s just the latest postcode, a borough on the brink; open up another branch, tell people what to think.
It’s up and coming, vibrant and edgy and every other buzz word. 75% already sold before foundations have been laid down.
In this town, speculation is king.
The thing is, I’m not looking to make an investment or increase my portfolio. I’m looking for a home like the one I grew up in.
A place where I can fill in the cracks and paint the walls, think about which pictures would look good where, so a gallery of our history can emerge.
To take satisfaction in every weed I pull out, and watch the spring seeds sprout, each year a little more like something to be proud of.
To stick drawings on walls that gently curl at the corners as the months go by, find accidental dents in the worktop that make you say “that was when…”
To know the worn banister, smoothed down from hanging and climbing and sliding, and pat its trusty newel post that’s held a thousand coats like a faithful hound.
There doesn’t seem to be much of this thinking around, or perhaps its just that others are keeping their dreams close to the ground, wondering, hoping that the day will come when a place to live isn’t a commodity and it’s not an oddity to want a place to call your own without looking to sell before it’s even halfway a home.