Haunt Poem by Ian Kellett

I live in a place of old history;
Seeded and suffused
With the residues
Of elsewhere’s mystery.

Not packaged or pawed
Or sensibly meant,
But sentient
Swept of accord.

Not ugly but frightful,
Smoke shadowed and damp,
With gas chambered lamps
At nightfall.

With beautiful bulkheads
At rest in their berths
Besides disused adverts
For comfortable beds.

Peopled by vagrants
Who have lived here forever;
Disinclined to relive
Their childhood’s transplant,

Though dire for outsiders
Who seldom come back
Because of the attractions
Provided.