
Our home
Your lawn overrun by coarse wild weed
from months of neglect and indifference
but you are more worried
that I did not fertilise my flowerbed.
Your living room, fine leather sofas embellished
by nights of triumphant chain smoking
but you are more worried
that I don’t open my windows for fresh air.
Your dining room, reeking of leftover meatloaf
too tangy for the family to enjoy
but you are more worried
about the smell of fish broth I heated last night.
Your bedroom, stained sheets and flayed wall paper
from nights of drunken fights with your lover
but you are more worried
that my quilt and pillows don’t match.
Your bathroom, blemished tiles from years of mold
from water seeping from your fancy bathtub
but you are more worried
by how the water sprays from my shower head.
Your house, rickety rackety tangoing with the wind
because you failed to fix the foundation
but you moralize on how
I should look after my own home.
