‘Having the builders in’ can be a stressful time – what else is there to do but write poetry?
Here’s a little something I wrote to while away the time…
I’m not one to stay in the house
Bouncing from room to room
Trying to avoid each jumble of
Jobs to be done.
But today, I am a prisoner
Confronting my demons
Of over-stuffed wardrobes
And fur-lined windowsills
With eyes that now spot
Cobwebs from various seasons.
Echoes of ready salted crisps
And pepperoni skins
Lurk under teenager furniture
Like prisoners tossed into oubliettes
Found, years later
By desperate vacuum attachments.
The cat is bewildered by my company –
Staring like a traffic warden
Daring me to park
On her side of the sofa –
A simple matter of
Breaking the stand-off I withdraw
To the kitchen, to make coffee with no title
And without heart-shaped ‘sprinkles’
And a three quid price-tag.
Confinement, it seems,
Has financial rewards.
Caffeine awakens curiosity –
Perhaps I’ll check out the state of the universe –
If the builders don’t switch off the wi-fi.
A Foxwood 21.07.17