Upstairs at Flinders Street Station
A poem about a historic building left to decay
Dec 18, 2021
her skirts are tightly gathered
she tries to keep the station soot
from collecting in her folds but
this gracious girl remains abandoned
ribs reset but jutting, unclothed
walls and seams torn and
gaping, vents letting in
the street cacophony
the whistling draughts
pipes piercing odd corners
a wall strangely adorned
with iron rings
bricks scraped and nicked
patterned metal walls
thick with layers of old paint
how can she breathe
too dangerous to let out her stays
her bonnet perched precariously
her feet dangling
ghost versions of her linger
like mirages of old glory
echoes of laughter, music
the ballroom floor rattles
under our curious feet.
