You Don’t Know What it’s Like Until…

Arms and legs
piled up everywhere
no sense of order
nothing put away
not even filed by type.

I had the same trouble
with his Father

The picture on the wall
trying to make it
look like
an art gallery
doesn’t fool me.
I’m used to teenage boys.

Could be worse, could be
motorbikes.

Oil and spanners
all over the house.
Worse than blood. Smelly
difficult to get out
of carpets or vacuum cleaner.

Vacuum’s right — sucks things in
his room a black hole
full of spare parts.
Hard work it is
being
Mrs. Frankenstein.