Wrong

Wrong

I knew it was wrong when I heard the birds
singing at four
and the daffodils in the hallway opened over night
to the hum of the heating.

Those hyacinths that I hate fell off the window sill
and didn’t break a stem,
the soup burnt and tasted of lemons
a squaggle of snails congregated under the fridge and made lists.

I knew it was wrong when I heard on the radio
that children were avoiding the conker trees closest to the road,
four people had tripped over doors mats in Norwich,
the phone lines were dead and the fixing men, missing.

I knew it was wrong when I started fit-full sleeping
and I a giant pinball machine of hope,
baked cakes, cleaned the fridge,
made C.D's for friends that I had forgotten for too long.

I never turned the heating off,
and knew it was wrong.
I gave the door mat
to the children at the bottom of the garden to make a den.

I left the house whole and clean
to the snails, to the hyancinths, to the hum of the heating.