Tuesday, 8 May 2018


Bath Time
The bath used to hang on the wall
in the scullery.
Not our scullery.
His scullery.
We borrowed it from Mr Neil
who rented us the rooms
at the front of his house.
One down, one up.
My mother would knock on his door
and he would lift it down for her.
But she had to carry it to our
living room.
It was heavy,
made of zinc she said.
It took a lot of water
which had to be carried from the outside
tap and then heated on our gas ring.
It took a lot of hot water
and had to be filled
and emptied
with a jug.
Sometimes it was just too much work
for her
and she washed me in a bowl
as I sat on her fat lap.
It was snuggly.
I preferred it
really.




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