The house of my childhood was a sepia seeping place
with a back yard full of rats
breeding as fast as the humans who lived there.

The house was near a berg
that had a chasm like a half smile,
I used to hide there when wanting to be alone,
planning my escape.

Twenty adults and children sharing one loo, a bathroom,
my mother explained was for rich people
she used cleaned one when in service.

The berg was not a mountain only a big rock,
now dynamited to give way to progress,
crushed memories
not even the very old remember it.