the walls told me

 

the walls told me that they had seen relatively little

but sometimes could guess at unspeakable evil

when privacy had distorted faces to unquestioning

torturers

 

the walls told me that they reflected death

sometimes, but it left little impression

since it was cessation for eternities

not transition

 

the walls told me they remembered best the music

swimming at night, or scratching up a sun

each morning, they liked smoke and scented

liquor – not people's faces

 

not what changed in them

 

 

 - David McLean