Under the big lights (poem)

For now, I sit on the sofa.

The big lights are on; the cat is in the garden. 

We eat at the table and don’t wear shoes on the carpet. 

One day this house will be 

sold. Packed up with every burning memory.

My trampoline was constructed overnight.

Hidden scraps of food in the furniture and

I never told mum that dad kicked the dog once.

Fourteen in the bathtub hearing shouts from downstairs.

I sat in between the both of them on this sofa-

the anchor point for their marriage.

Mum’s been sectioned now.

Dad’s all alone.

They tried to sell the house before,

but no-one wanted the walls that raised me.

The gravy stain near the dinner table,

the calendar in the kitchen. 

There were no takers,

so for now, I sit on the sofa. 

The big lights are on, 

but the cat’s gone to bed.