The sharp, irregular knock of wooden <br />brush’s shoulder against skirting-board, <br />punctuated with the lighter tap <br />of brush on pan, the contents neatly <br />tapped back into its metal or plastic maw; <br />the knocks, sometimes gentle <br />with the happiness of home and heart; <br />sometimes, sharper, as if they carry <br />unspoken messages of time too short, <br />and tempers too.. <br /> <br />not today the hoovering intake of that continuous <br />indrawn mechanical breath that so disturbs <br />domestic pets; that brings unease to the couch potato, <br />a guilt just short of offer to assist… <br /> <br />these unexpected memories stirred <br />of simpler times and childhood’s unappreciated <br />securities, then taken so for granted.. <br />how sweet, nostalgia’s evocations of the so selective heart… <br /> <br />fact is, there comes a time when wisdom’s word <br />is that it's now the time of life when one would be advised <br />to risk no longer, the pythonic entanglements, <br />the tempted fate, Miltonic fall, <br />domestic heaven turned disjointed hell, <br />of vacuuming the stairs… <br /> <br />* [and a Betjemanesque coda for Dan Tyler: ] <br /> <br />Time now to cease unequal fight; <br />Nor trip on cord - Satanic the machine; <br />Hoover no longer to dust-free Jerusalem <br />In England's suburbs, leafy, green...<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/childhood-circles-around/
