George J. Dance wrote:

> My Father's House

> This is my father's house, although
> The man died thirteen years ago.
> They said it would be quite all right
> To take a drive to see it now.

> Dad laid those grey foundation blocks
> And built the whole thing (from a box),
> Toiling after each full day's work.
> I helped, though I was only six.

> Look, here's the back door I would use
> And here's where I'd remove my shoes
> To enter; there I'd leave my things
> And, when allowed, climb up these stairs.

> In this room I'd wash many a dish,
> Gaze out this window, and I'd wish
> To be so many other places.
> (Wishy-washy? Oh, I guess!)

> Outside, the garden that he grew
> Where I would work the summers through,
> While watching my friends run and play
> Mysterious games I never knew.

> That room's all changed; oh, where is it,
> The one chair I was let to sit?
> (For boys can be such filthy things.)
> Which, the corner where boys were put?

> Oh ... down that hall there is a room
> Where I'd be shut (as in a tomb)
> After the meal, to make no noise,
> To read or play alone, and then

> Lights out: in bed by nine each night,
> Some nights wanting to pee with fright,
> Face and pyjama bottoms down
> As for my father's belt I'd wait.

> Oh, if I were a millionaire
> I'd buy my father's house, and there
> I'd build a bonfire, oh so high
> Its flames would light up all the air.

> ~~
> George J. Dance
> from Logos and other logoi, 2021

PING G.D... this posted on JLA...????