The Tuesday Poem: Gathering Dust

All over our home we’re gathering dust like abandoned cars clothed in sea-air rust or kitchen table peppered with tobacco ash; our aged home-made bookcase fades to grey, a veil has settled on this life of me and you.

Our wedding photo leans against a wall, remains unhung (family portraits conceal by means of artful, trained grimace); candles remain unlit or spend themselves on bottles of wine and cheap Sambuca.

Strangers are not invited in to view where detritus washes up: corners’ mugs of month-old tea, under the sofa’s jigsaw pieces, Lego, unmentionables,things-that-should-not-be that defy