I go into the kitchen

remains of breakfast

piles of shop receipts on the counters

in the bedroom

contents of yesterdays changeover

handbag purse

on my side of the bed

in the lounge

stuff meaning to be put away

& later

she will sigh

say to me

why is your life so untidy?

& i

of course will hug her

whisper deep in her ear

‘cos I got you in it

baby is why

the corruption of the neat

haunts my days

not just in the tidying of the green field

the neglected street corner

refused to be let go

gentrifying the run down

bring fussy tidying to the rotten row

here a collapse concrete flaking wall

all reminders of our own instability

fending off with new paint brush

sweeping away the crumble past

forgetting death in its untidy

comes for us all

but how the tidiers want in to your life

fix a little here straighten up the back

run a line of soap across the floor

polish up the bones of your internals

pretty up the unpretty to feel better

about themselves their inner poor core