there are some things which cannot and should not be fixed

‘It’s the overflow from the boiler,’ she said

taking me outside and pointing at the plastic pipe.

‘That’s too short. It’s eaten through the roof tiles,

and now it’s soaking into the French doors.’

She was right, the walls damp, the glass condensed.

I went to the hardware store, bought some duct tape

and an extra length of pipe,

dug out a hacksaw from under the eaves,

phoned a neighbour to borrow a ladder,

and treading lightly manufactured a repair.


Inside, washing my face I inspected

the lines on my forehead, the crow’s feet

stretching to my hairline, clearly in ebb,

the grey strands daily growing stronger,

and on tip toe – left knee aching,

shoulders and neck tight with trapped pain,

the dogs quartering me on the daily walks –

to see more clearly the ingrown hairs

black-headed on my cheeks I wondered

what tools and substances I would need

to affect an effective fix.


‘Apple crumble,’ she says standing at the door,

‘just out of the oven and I’ve custard heating.

Don’t be too long. It don’t want it to spoil.’

Are those mirrored eyes smiling?

I put on an old softened t-shirt and turn

Comfortable with my aging architecture.

© Bhi 2023
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I Iike meloncholy… Was that your intent? A plain tale of everyman, everyday… Beautiful.


I like the contrast, between the repair needed on the house, and the (possible) need for the same on yourself. And of course we can’t do a quick fix – though – a bit of Polyfilla Botox might work for a while – just don’t try to smile! And I liked the last stanza – the best crumble is not in ourselves! A nice one B.

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