The Vault

I will not reveal the contents,

and there is no answer to the

question of how long it

has been there –

just that I know it exists,

beneath the green

strips of splayed fern

fingers, shielding damp

sealed boxes bursting to

spring, held down by

flesh toned tape.

It is pointless to

talk about money –

the objects are worth

nothing to those

who don’t know me,

who would see only

polystyrene and nylon

bundled between

prefab concrete walls,

relics of a useless

near-history.

My secrecy has no

rationality, but

I just can’t shake the

feeling that the

fluorescent strip inside

is blinking out, or

that somebody will die

upon their chance entrance,

or I will –

then leave the door

open behind them.

Let everything and

everyone in.