Not Home Now

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.