Good night, sweet
As of our commute home tonight, the Kentile Floors sign is officially being dismantled. At 7:14pm, the “K” and the “E” were gone, with the rest of the letters soon to follow. Although we have many thoughts on the blandification (no, that’s not a word, but it also really, really is) of the skyline, we don’t feel like articulating them right now. We feel like having some gin and reading some Auden and wallowing in nostalgia, if only for tonight.
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Follow Kristin Iversen on twitter @kmiversen