( A tribute to The Shields Gazette office in Chapter Row, South Shields, on the occasion of its closure on July 31, 2014.)
Pencils, half-finished paperwork,
this is how it ends: time just stops,
Not even remembering hurts,
keys jammed in their awkward locks.
Rooms silent, worn out by shouting,
papers lost to a print of sea,
dust grows into a grey mountain,
Still the quiet heads home with me.
Dead-lines are disconnected phones,
There are no more sales at the front desk,
urgent messages left alone,
'The Shipping Forecast's' are a wreck',
brick by brick it comes crying down,
tears, and cement, hit the ground.