The museum of the thing

'I'm thinking of putting my bed

into the spare room and everything from the spare room

into my bedroom' you said

in lieu of an acceptance speech.

You hadn't been expecting to win the award

you'd been drifting off all night thinking

about where you sit when you're writing things.

In Colorado there is a museum that's an exact replica

of your front room.

The paintings on the walls. The wobbly TV stand.

The badly painted skirting boards.

Your friend Simon saw it on his honeymoon.

He still went even though the wedding didn't go ahead.

'Maybe there's a replica of your front room in a museum somewhere'

I say to Simon in case he feels left out. We're sitting in my front room

or maybe in that museum in Colorado.

It's hard to know for certain sometimes.

He tells me there are paintings that have been in his family for generations.

They're all at his cousin's house

who lives just across town but they've never met

although he has been past there on his bike sometimes.