Earning the house keeping.

 

Every pay day, your  job to prepare

the monstrous honeymoon suite.

Dragging mother’s dead weight mattress into the sitting room

to fashion  with squalid sofa cushions a crude double bed,

whilst she woozily opened another bottle.

In the bathroom, grunts and snorts as the lodger attempted

to make appetizing his goblin’s body.

Tucked up safely in your own bed,

you dived deep into a dream pool.

Following morning, wine amnesia spared details

except for blurred recollections of foreplay like pig at a trough.

‘Has he left it?’ triggered a desperate treasure hunt,

notes stashed with relief into mother’s purse.

As she bathed with wine glass balanced on bath’s ledge,

you straightened the sitting room with madam efficiency.