Doll’s House

A new poem by Kathryn Simmonds.

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The doll’s house wants for windows
and a proper paint job.
Half the floors are carpeted
and half bare board.
It’s liveable despite the lack of toilets.
The roof lifts up. The walls swing out.
There’s Daddy fully clothed and showering,
slumped against the cubicle, his son
face down on the floor outside.
There’s big sister at her computer,
orange wool hair flying straight up to the sky.
Her little sister’s at the kitchen table,
feet shod in wooden shoes,
never finishing a meal. 
The empty fridge is on its side in the attic.
The pink sheet grass is wrinkled all around.
And Mummy lies on her hard bed
in the middle of the afternoon
dreaming with her eyes open.

Kathryn Simmonds is the author of two collections, Sunday at the Skin Launderette and The Visitations, both published by Seren.

This article appears in the 05 April 2019 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit wreckers