THE MILK HAS GONE OFF

A couple of poems about moving house. Thankfully I have not done so for a long time. This first was a writing exercise I set myself. If I had to clear a house how would I do it.

MOVING HOUSE

1. HOUSE CLEARANCE

The enormity of it all just stops you

dead in your tracks.

One long life lived,

and here you are in the hallway,

wondering where to start,

wishing it were simply a woollen jumper

with one loose thread you could unpick.

Of course, it’s not that easy,

so you walk through the rooms

upstairs then down,

make a cup of tea,

sit at the kitchen table,

drink it black

because the milk has gone off.

I think it was the image of a woollen jumper unravelling that trigged the poem. This next one was inspired by the final look around my late father house.

2. FINAL SEARCH

the day before we sold the family home

me and my sister

in the name of thoroughness

walked through each room one final time

I stepped into the loft

and found a slice of the 1970’s

packed away in boxes

we walked back to her house

arms full of more than memories

Again it is more of an account of an actual event than some of my work. There are another two parts to the poem. I shall post those on Friday.

Here's Love with A House Is Not A Motel.

Until next time.