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The upheaval of change.



“I smell one drop of paint and I feel faint.”

So said my Mother on a cold October night.

Frost ruled the ground and sky,

The very stars seemed too cold but they mattered,

Like family life.



It was the blackest cloudless sky with all

Its tiny shiny white dots,

I was full of fear and worry

As I stared out the living room window,

The house was to be sold

Put up for sale

Flogged.



The mortgage was  high and the house now to big,

The many siblings were now strangers.

Apart from me,

The last.



So it was to be

This sale would set this family free.



The inside needed preening,

we could not push that aside.



You need to look your best cover up that tardy vest,

Bake that bread with fresh flower on the side.

An upgrade is in the order of the day,

All must muck in and see this byre away.



“Change“, it is such a thankless word

I hate it more than “work”,

For work revolves around my needs

But change can involve all sort of greed

Those that smile then those that smirk

And all that know their handiwork..

It’s change.



So it is the sign is up

My life must go in boxes,

A cardboard city.



I have came to this conclusion,

I am under no allusion,

That madness and sadness have descended upon my family

From the cranium right through the soul

To the tip of our very toes.

Well, that is what I suppose.



There is no going back,

They say that change is good,

they may as well

Paint this house a shade of black,



To match my fucking mood.



I hate change.