The Parents Poem by Gary Diamond

I will admit my parents
did a good job bringing me up
but
they had all these little eccentricities
that I couldn’t understand.

Like four loud ticking clocks in the lounge.
That was more clocks than most people
had in their house.

They would sit in that lounge
watching television
the shows degrading in quality
all the time
with the set so quiet
you could hear the clocks over the top.

When I put the volume
of the set
to an engrossing volume
my mother would insist
I was going deaf.

My mother
was partial to a
common affliction
of the modern world.

That everything should be
as spotless as possible
you should wash twice a day
you should always be cleaning plates
and glasses
always washing clothes in the machine
always smell good
always be well-kempt.

Even smart people buy into these things
if they are bombarded with them enough
by the media.
I called it OCD cleaning.
She’d even got my father into it.

I'll stick to two or three baths a week thanks.