Dirge for the Cleveleys Hotel


They left the doors unlocked. It seems that this had always been the plan,
So vandals, drunks and squatters could get in. The empty beer cans
Were everywhere, a carpet made from crushed and leaking party tins.
The ceiling now had half collapsed, the staircase almost fallen in.
A ghostly, ruined relic where in years gone by the drunks had danced
To music played so loud it made your ears bleed, and crude romance
Had worn its sordid melody in toilets now destroyed and sprayed
With painted genitalia. The building had seen better days
Than this. It was an empty shell of hanging wires and plaster dust
And fractured pipes like ribs stuck up through all the debris, lath and rust.
We made our way across the room where sunlight through the shuttered panes
Picked out the rubble, probed the cracks, lit broken glass and urine stains.
So much for preservation orders. Let the local squatters through
To undermine the building’s heart. Then call the Health and Safety crew
And they’ll just have the place torn down, no longer in a safe condition,
With property developers encouraging the demolition.


19 responses to “Dirge for the Cleveleys Hotel

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