I remember broken windows,
cupboard doors hanging off hinges and
kitchen draws that did not close properly.

I remember the lock on the bathroom door
was one of the few things that did work in our house. And
how the back of the lock was blunted
by butter knives trying to open it from the outside.

In the mornings, the living room curtains remained closed.
Sun begged to shine in but was blocked out
locked out. Lost keys were a frequent problem

I remember sister coming home from West End raving,
blasting house'n'garage out of charity shop speakers
she had saved up for. How she would walk in at dawn
bass lines vibrate me out of sleep and I sit up
on squeaking bunk bed, sleep glued eyes
while she tries to explain what that high feels like

I was nine years old. I liked to fix things.
I remember 9 o'clock starts at school meaning nothing
****** daytime TV; I mostly watched Big Break and Count Down.
I remember the silver hanger,
I twisted and fitted into the back of the TV
so it played pixels that painted pictures rather than
a screen of white noise.

I remember the shouting
that deep dark thick rouge that stained
the glass table. The depression.

I remember sitting on my window sill looking down
at the people off to work whilst we stay in. Doors.

Curtains drawn
mum laying on the sofa
Dead to us.