On the ferry to Larne, someone shouts ‘That cunt of a curtain!’
and you’re back where inanimate objects have malicious intent;
where soft furnishings are mischievous,
looking for trouble, and white goods present a staunch, rebellious mien
when, in levering them into the perfect slot, your da…encounters problems.
In the soft-pile carpet is the spirit of an elf
who wants to be out in the woods changing workmen to donkey kings;
the stereo, if it could, would seize, or sign itself away for scrap.
As for the old cloth deckchairs, summer nights to the tune of the midge
they rustle their foliage, flex their ancient wooden jaws like traps.