134 – No Room For Flowers

Poem number 134
.
No Room For Flowers
.
Rubble and glass and broken doors
Rubbish and stones and bits of floor
Crisp packets, gravel, scavenging rats
A scooter, a golfball some mouldy old mats
Waterlogged mattresses, packets of fags
Old cardboard boxes and nappies in bags,
Our garden’s a pigsty, a mess, overgrown
I’m too scared to clear it – I leave it alone
I keep the door bolted I stay safe inside
Pretend the lawn’s empty, an easier ride
The neighbours don’t like it but sod ’em I say
They should put up a fence or just go, move away
An Englishman’s garden’s his castle, his fief
And besides, it’s the place where I buried the wife.
(And her lover).

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