Household

Household castle refuge home

behind a square of chipboard

or a taped up letterbox

up clanging metal stairs

broken concrete steps

decking with a slat missing,

along a rutted dustblown track,

patrolled by a snarling rotweiler

a slender whippet or a yapping Jack Russell,

it's your place where you close

the door the blinds the curtains,

fill it with smoke music people

the smell of bacon,

sit outside on a dying armchair,

call across the road to your neighbour

small naked child under your arm,

claiming your outside space with radio

barbecue the shouts and wailing

of children the laughter of bare-chested boys.

In the end it's where you come back to

to find your place catch your breath

drink tea make chips

tinker with the car

hang the washing do the vacuuming

feed the cats talk on the phone.

You pay the rent the mortgage

the bills the council tax,

you put out the rubbish,

let the dandelions grow round your door,

leave your shoes on the step,

the kids' toys wellies bikes.

You sit on your step in the sun

looking out at your view

and you are home.