Frank rebuilding a barbecue with grandchildren

It had to go of course the new
extensions crowded it – a pity though
these bricks have night inside them. Claret stains
are in there somewhere, lamp-lit stains that move
with passing glasses. People grew
around this place. Grew taller, noisy, left
of Marx and then uncertain. Bricks seal sounds
of evening in, of riesling being poured,
dogs trodden on, neat first-year theories, noise
they use for music now. At last the roar
of engines going home. I think I’ll clean
these bricks and stack them somewhere. Then
I’ll wait until the carpenters have gone.
Might as well rebuild this thing, who knows,
there may be further arguing to do.
Besides, there’s other people coming on –
grandchildren now and, given time, they’ll grow.