Whilst staying at your mother’s house,you take a stroll downstairs
and stand, in silence, in her kitchen.
You rearrange the cutlery
upon the kitchen’s faded surface,
and make a xylophone of knives and forks.
It comes as no surprise: they play,without a harmony, a tune
you have no way of recognizing.
You unplug her kettle, placingit in the oven, which you cover
with tea-bags and washing-up liquid.
An unheard voice informs you that,apart from footstep-muffling socks,
you seem to be completely naked.
You clothe yourself with items fromthe fridge: a low-fat yoghurt t-shirt,
milk trousers, and a cream-bun hat.
Now dressed for action, your attentionis turned towards the downstairs bathroom,
the landscaped garden, and the lounge.
And in the morning, when she spots
her sofa up a tree, you explain
that this is how you’ve always felt.
(24th July, B-d-A)