Poetry

Trouble and Strife for Seven Days

Right, my love,

let’s put away those pants,

move those bin bags,

tidy up like sturdy worker ants.

 

Come, now, dearest,

pick up your feet,

get that motor in your head going,

you’ve got time this week.

 

Shall we go dancing

under the stars,

waltz time away

and have the night solely ours?

 

Look, my darling,

I know I’ve made a mess,

my dungarees are covered in paint,

but I’ve done my best.

 

Wow, my dear heart!

Did you really make that?

Everyone will love it,

they’ll play it wherever they’re sat!

 

Oh, honeybun,

I just can’t get this bit right,

could you read this passage

and make sure it’s not a terrible fright?

 

Sugarplum, what a week!

Shall we kick back tonight,

watch some films

and then conk out like a light?

 

 

Poetry

And here we are

The scum around the bath is easily scrubbed away,

the ceramic clean enough to be white again.

Paint tins, brushes, rollers –

evidence of our romp with the walls

clear for any onlooker. Sweet sugared soap

purges away the grime of long life,

Artex to mask the imbalance. Spongy bounce

under our feet. That’s more like it.

Spread our toes to feel the pile. New.

Home at last.