Warning, says the sign - dog <br />bites first, asks questions later <br />but now the cat rules OK, <br />runs ahead through the green barn door <br />into Dad's home within a home. <br /> <br />A horizontal rainbow of a hundred screwdrivers, <br />wait to serve, pliers perched above like birds <br />and Father's scythe, by Time forgotten, <br />broods high up on a rafter. <br /> <br />A blue sea of plastic washes up <br />against a contour map of rusted metal sheeting. <br />A kitchen chair hovers like a satellite <br />over a mound of memories and hopes, <br />old dark wardrobes, doors closed on empty spaces <br />or filled with mini-skirts and kipper ties, <br />a vaccuum flask remembering <br />picnics in the Hollow, <br />bikes, his, hers and Baby's <br />waiting for Goldilocks to take them for a spin. <br /> <br />The vast space below the roof, <br />home to swallows in the spring, <br />and down here among the bric-a-brac and DIY <br />the mice must dodge the yellow eyes of Mag. <br />She's purring on Dad's chair <br />beside the iron stove, where <br />the TV's ready, poised like Dad <br />to witness Man. United's victory.<br /><br />Janice Windle<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/irish-poems-dad-s-shed/
