The King of Bling

A central atrium
from which five wings
like five points of a star.
And so the name was born:
Star Mall. The oldest wing,
The Christmas Gallery
(it having been completed
late December in the snow)
the builders called Phase 1,
lies empty and deserted.
The leases on its shops
expired six months ago -
leases which the landlord
for reasons of his own
(financial, certainly)
will not renew.
Looking at it now,
pad-locked and barred
with metal grills,
you'd think a prison gallery.

Josef and Marianne.
Homeless. Sole visitors,
their whole world packed
into a baby's buggy
pushed by Josef,
have wandered in
and paused a moment at
The House of Bling,
not so completely cleared
as was the rest. Their eyes -
their ears, perhaps - are caught
by remnants of past bling
reflecting light.
(Security, like clearing
and the cleaning,
has been less thorough here.)
As they lean in
to get a clearer view,
a man-sized door
set in the steel grid
covering the entrance,
gives slightly to their weight .

Josef now works briefly - but
intently -on the lock,
until the small door swings.
Then he unloads the buggy,
carries it across the door's
high threshold,
and after it their two worlds,
bag by plastic bag.
Five minutes maximum
and they are in.

A day or two
and word has spread:
they're joined by others
from the world beyond.
First in: two practised
squatters, man and wife
who get things organised:
some heat, some light,
a change of locks,
the duty rota, and so on.
Then come The Seers,
a boy band yet to make
their way. Two one-time
workers from a sheep farm -
now "a farm experience"
for schools and families -
and a former chief executive,
quite used to bling, she says.

Almost from the first
small crowds are gathering,
and growing by the day,
soon to include the local press
and then the nationals.
When Marianne gives birth,
Josef takes a packing case
and makes of it a cot,
half filling it
with (artificial) straw.
Bling Bling
writ large upon its side
is symbolising something,
you might think - a name
to call a glitzy child, perhaps?

The happiness occurred
on New Year's Night -
also symbolising something, you might think.
By morning light - about
the time the media begin
to make their presence felt -
someone notices graffiti
on the entrance tiles outside.
It reads: "All Hail, the King of Bling!"
And from the first floor gallery
above Bling House,
a star is hanging by its flex
and flashing merrily.

But then,
before the day is fully lit,
come Social Services
to take the boy child
into care, removing him
to Herriod Road
Young People's Home.

Now Josef blames himself
who'd had a dream
in which the whole of this had been
played out before his eyes
without from him the merest
twitch of recognition.

And so it is a tale
like any other.
Merely that.... except,
we're hearing -
reading on our social networks -
that the home,
in turmoil when Bling Bling arrived
(two youngsters having
recently absconded,
the milk consumption
having doubled - as it is apt
to do at times of stress),
was suddenly becalmed; a place
of peace and light.
Tranquility, no less!
Then when they walked
him round the grounds,
the birds flew down
and sang to him.

Therefore, we wondered...
might there be more
to come of this... of him?