Today we’re looking after the grandchildren.
I’ve locked myself in the bathroom again.
One of them, four years old, is standing
thunderously quiet outside my den.
They re-arrange the lounge as an accident.
I supply cake and biscuits
to crumble into the new carpets.
All of which is prohibited by their absent parent.
So they persecute by including me.
Our tomcat, a surly, bombastic mog
is a basket case cowering amongst the logs,
refusing to emerge, not even for tea.
When did either of us sign up for this doom?
I’m still not leaving the bathroom!