No.65.

There are flies in the toilet
And noises in the fridge,
Inches of upheaval set
To spoil our acreage.

The television off switch
And washing machine on
Have recently gained glitches
That have confused everyone.

A satellite receiver
And an errant internet
Compete for worst achiever
Whilst amassing peak call debt,

And the curtains are uncertain
As to how they should be pulled
So daily condensation
Creeps into the window sill.

The carpet has a pattern
That entices you to puke,
Whilst magnolia just happens
To be everywhere you look,

And in the hallway and the landing
There are clothes in dusty piles
Whilst the holes they used to hang in
Have been filled with new textiles.

And though the bedrooms are appealing
For a shorter contribution
Their occupants are dreaming
Of a stay of execution,

And those in need of feeding
Have assault courses to cross
As the dishes are receding
Inbetween the dirty pots.

And the furniture once featured
In the grandest catalogue
But now it only teaches us
To leave such tat alone,

And those same life lessons learn us
Not to drink too much in bars
Because you never know who’ll turn up
And break open your old heart.