The Floor
Sanding the floor
Scraping off the lumps of dried paint
With a blunt chisel
My knee bones are sore
Lifting tacks
My nose is running
Lungs are tight
My tongue is dusty.
I’m also painting butterflies
On the floor boards
To be sealed
Diamond hard
With floor varnish.
Don’t step on the floor
Its wet
I have to go round the outside
Of the house to go to the toilet.
I finish this poem in the bath my wife has run for me
Run and used
The water is pink with her hair dye
My paper is wet and my pen doesn’t work
And the children are banging on the bathroom door.
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