Solving Problems, Except One
My Dad is fixing things around the house.
There’s his big ape book sat on my homework
to stop it flying off and his trainer
propping open my bedroom door at night −
now the summer heat and spooks can escape.
A photograph with his gigantic fish
perches in front of our television,
hiding the ugly mark, the sale sticker made.
On a damp day, he lines our umbrellas
on the door mat, so the rain doesn’t creep
to the new carpet and make my Mum sad.
Sometimes, when he’s mended the broken bits:
hammered nails, smeared glue and connected wires,
he sleeps, on his favourite sofa and snores.
I cover my ears and wonder: how is he going to fix that?
Background: there's always one snorer! You might know how I feel.