Sunday Diy Poem by Janet Budd

I dash to get to B & Q
By eleven
That’s the time
The opening of the temple
To DIY
I go in,
Buy sugar soap to wash
The skirting boards
Prepare them for
Undercoat and gloss
Or on this day of rest
I’d be at a loss
For something wholly
Meaningful to do

The car park’s filling up
As I get there
Drivers scan for gaps,
They squint and stare.
They get impatient,
Growl and snap
At others who have come
To worship too,
The Gods of ‘Must Keep Busy’
‘Spend’ and ‘Do’.

Back home
The telly’s off
The radio too.
I hear my hush
Creeping through
In slippered toes
To the kitchen sink.
Water spurts
I stir a swirling flush
To the bucket’s brim
The vortex sucks
A stream of sugar soap
Then gushes
Out and in, out and in.

I sponge away
The grease and grime of time.
Memories
In particles of dust
Suspended, floating
Then flushed down the drain
Nostalgic waste
Yet seeping through
A stain
Permeating old, old layers
Of paint

A hurt, some hurts
Panic, breath breaking pain
Relating to
I no longer know.
I’ve let it go, I’ve let it go
But it will not let go.

I wonder if sugar soap tastes sweet?
If bitter tears are flavoured with salt lime?
If eating sage can make me smart?
If plastering the cracks will heal my heart?

Returning to the practical task
Of washing skirting boards
I cease to dream.
An arching ache across my back
A pressing prompt
To make clean, make clean.

I am on the brink.
My bucket walls contain
Hold, bind
A torrent’s reign
Of a tidal mind
I sink and rise,
Rise and rise and sink.


I dash to get to B & Q
By four.
That is the time,
The closing of the store
To those
Who earlier forgot,
Or misread their needs
And cannot stop
Now their undertaking
Has begun.

Meanderers are loading up
Their vans
With wooden planks
That won’t nearly fit,
With bargain toilet pans
And random paint.
I sprint the car park’s edge
Side step the sliding door.
Purchase undercoat and gloss
Then one thing more: -

A looking glass,
A mirror in a frame.
Smooth crystalline,
Reflective pane
In which to see
Another space,
Another time, another me.

I ponder, do reflections have a wall?
Does enlightenment come from the Sun?
Can memories be exposed to light?
Does redemption make wrongs right?