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 

that way

really.

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