Not Home Now Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Like a dog that’s lost the scent
On a night of snow and dark
I sat outside the door of what’s Not Home Now

Who’s the Mummy of the house?
Is she blousy, milky, cuddly,
Warm as well-worn slippers?
Is she slap and tickly,
Whipping up meals from nothing?

Who’s the Daddy?
I’ll bet he’s a regular brick
I’ll bet he walks the dog
I’ll bet it’s a rescued dog
I’ll bet he never strays
From the marital nest
Like Mr Cuckoo

I wouldn’t fit in there now
A fridge in its sixties
Icicles grown on my icicles
A two pin plug in a world of remote controls

Somewhere, between the cracks
In the old foundations
Like rot, like a slow mould
My stains remain.