Three or four hours ago I was thinking of burning down the house.
The walls are made up of pencil sketches, moving up in inches,
covered first with Sea Breeze, then with Morning Yellow –
(yellow was supposed to bring about happiness).
The floors: that red wine spillage, much like
the port wine stain across her face.
Somewhere deep inside the soil are potatoes and carrots
and bulbs and leeks and Smiffy from Pets at Home,
and above ground, the first half of her treehouse
(he said he’d start the second half next week).
Even with the picnic bench abandoned,
sparrows still search for jam butties.
The matchbox sits beside the fireplace – it’s electric,
but I have so many candles these days.
Only five candles remain in the kitchen drawer
so I would have had to go out and buy two more.
Too much hassle.
The sky is fading into yellow now, anyway.
It’s strange how dust can be too much,
and ash too little.