My ‘Castello’ Flatlet
I’m renting over the rooftops
With a swallow, momentarily, in the living room
Creepy-crawlies that hide’n’seek hop
And a lizard under the kitchen broom.
I was counting on getting forty winks
Instead of counting Sardinian sheep.
My eyes wide open, not a blink,
Crayoned in above my cotton-white, pillow-case cheeks.
Meanwhile, you make it in your summer dress
Up the backwards four-floor helter-skelter staircase.
The daft dotty bird below’s a pest
And with the landlady it’s the usual cat’n’mouse chase.
For me, there’s a clash of colours; red white’n’blue
Or green white’n’red.
Anyway, from the seagull woman’s daily point of view
Everything’s black’n’white ; get those squawky city tenants fed.
Once upon a time;
Fables told in our family album.
Sarah with her toy panda
My dad, me and mum.
Joyriding the funfair’s big wheel.
Dodgem cars, pillow fights and conkers.
The kaleidoscope I used to turn.
My bedroom bedevilled by monsters.
My memory plays truant
Becoming a lump of plasticine:
That photographic baby;that first uniformed pose
And us at Aunt Christine’s.
Recalling the sandcars, candyfloss and clowns
I can’t rewind my chocolate clock.
Wish I had a hundred lines to write;
I mustn’t daydream about being grown-up.
Loafing along the dormitory pier
In pyjama-patterned deck chairs,
The seasonal snoozers; one of whom, an old dear
Who catnaps, having had her cod’n’chips.
A ten pence piece spare,
I enjoy a keyhole capers carry-on
Seeing “What the Butler Saw.”
A mischievous Peeping Tom
Peeking the naughty nymph’s Victorian smalls.
Looking further along, a stand-up fat lady
And her henpecked husband, both with cut-out face,
Make a cheeky seaside snap; swapping their own for a cartoon body,
A couple of tourists pop into picture postcard place.
When, inevitably, on the beach below,
A sudden cloudburst and downpour produce panic;
While the press-ganged kids reluctantly collect the lilo,
Mum and Dad, mobilised, salvage the remnants of a ruined picnic.
What gets my goat;
A string of jealousies tangled in my throat.
Sant’ Efisio’s bells strike two
And what the hell are you up to?
Vagabond, bottle-necked in life, before me.
What’s it like Mr Nobody?
“It’s a life of shit!”
My landlady, at the sink, spits.
Whatever happens next
I wonder am I perplexed:
Belongings bundled together on a stick;
Should I be optimistic?
A quick appraisal anchored down in rhymes.
Another one with wavy lines.
I’m sorry. No more news.
Write back. What about you?