Removals van
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Over the garden my piano floats with a bum note
followed by lamps, bedclothes, potplants,
flatscreen TV, your vast CD collection
and carrier-bags distended with crockery.
Now we're just waiting for a phonecall from our solicitor.
I grew up on Whitebridge estate,
our house backed right onto the old tramway.
The smell of freshly-baked oaties
curls like a Slow Worm through my memories:
Brand-new skateboard echoing along the ginnel;
Staying up late to watch the England Germany semi-final;
The long summers my brother and me
passed fishing in the quarry and climbing trees;
Great cities of LEGO
sprawled across the darkened plain of the garage floor.
Blasting Erasure 'Blue Savannah' we pull onto the drive.
Our headlights like dancing sprites reflect in the porch-window.
The previous occupant - a retired civil engineer
and recent widower -
has left us a pressie in the fridge - a giant bottle of bubbly.
Things started to get pretty bad
when Nissan made my Dad redundant -
All he'd do was watch telly,
sinking lagers steadily.
Tempers boiled, dinners spoiled,
Gladiators versus Noel's House Party.
Having a curry on crossed legs surrounded by boxes
we take a drunken selfie and Whatsapp it to your family
then I give myself a headache blowing up the airbed for our first sleep.
Jolted awake the central heating groans: Where am I?
I'm up in the loft playing Doom.
There's an awful crashing and banging coming from the living room.
I should be running down the stairs
but I just sit frozen to my chair.
Dad's shouting "I can't take it anymore!",
then he's vanished in the blink of a slamming door.
I spent the morning traipsing round Ikea and B&Q
(hammers and nails,
a curtain rail,
pans, mugs, sink-plugs,
and a Persian rug)
then we had our appointment with the midwife.
And here we are painting the little bedroom...
It won't be long 'til the baby arrives.