Wrecking Ball by John Grey

Heavy equipment closes in on the mansion.
No one has lived in it for ten years.
The owner died waiting for a heart transplant.
His trophy wife moved to Florida
with her personal trainer boyfriend.
The two kids from his first marriage
have no attachment to it.
Nor have they money for the upkeep.
They’re barely getting by.

The birds nesting in the eaves
will have to find new homes.
Same with the rats in the basement.
And the painting on the wall
of the family patriarch
from three generations back
will end up in the dumpster,
joining what’s left of the money he made
at the turn of the last century.

A giant silver ball
smashes into the second floor.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Walls cave in.
Floors collapse.
It’s all over within the hour.
It crushed the house.
It did a bang-up job on the family.



John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in That, Dalhousie Review and North Dakota Quarterly with work upcoming in Qwerty, Chronogram and failbetter.