Small, green,
rubber in texture,
lying in wait.
Tubes of potions
and other worrying liquids
fester away
in the corners of doom.
Disturbingly,
two sharpened stakes and a wooden hammer
rest concealed
within a brown holdall under the bed.
And then
the worst horror of all.
Congealed milk,
left for three days
beside a pink fluffy cat
and a scrapyard of toy cars.
Vacuum bag too small to repel these grimy hordes
advancing at speed.
I sit and sigh.
‘Don’t you just love having kids.’

 

© Antony N Britt

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