the cocked-up water filter
off-tilt extractor fan
too high cupboards
and Play-Doh caked carpets.
He lost her.
Behind the lily dusted curtains
half-painted over magnolia
mountains of empty Ribena bottles
set to topple, spitting dregs.
She keeps her distance.
Lunchboxes absent without leave
in massacre of scattered limbs
and squashed croquet potatoes
seen from the underside
of the clear plastic Ikea chairs.
Is all that remains of them.
Scarlett Kefford | @scarlettroses_
This poem was taken from Scarlett’s first collection of poetry, Finding Home, which is available to buy here.
Scarlett is a 23-year-old award-nominated screenwriter and poet only moonlighting as a PA because disaster restoration and repair insurance is sexy.