Peppermint Beach No. 5 (Dulux
This wall, stabbed three times by a calculating
damp meter while growing cauliflower florets,
is my wall, created in lime green vinyl silk called
Peppermint Beach No. 5.
Iím listening for the clatter of horseís hooves,
the tap of Cuban heels and the squeak of a holster.
No hooves, no heels, no holster, just a van,
a man and his mobile phone.
His black t-shirt is gunshot with white emulsion
and he struts around the wallís quiet alcove.
Itís a lucky cut inwards to hide our shame.
Time to make good.
A bowl begging porridge. A plate licking plaster.
A dustsheet beneath his skill. He isnít a cowboy.
A room choked on lavender air freshener sticks.
One has remained.
Her favourite fragrance. It watches from a shelf
relocated the day before. His hands scuff away,
turning back time as the dust settles. I mop around
using lavender disinfectant.
My winter of discontent is rollered into summer,
itís not just sublime, itís a brand new lime.
This emulsion is lovely and so is the gloss paint.
Itís Country Beige.
We had chosen a different colour for each room.
I painted them all. Youíre a nice little decorator.
I wore coveralls and she cleaned up my mess.
I was younger then.
I love the matching wall clock. She never saw it.
A long grey foam tube is hugging the pipework.
Heís gone and that clockís hands have only turned
to resurrect my wall.
If you have any thoughts about this poem, Susan Wilson would
be pleased to hear them