Come The Revolution

  The house is in ferment,
  stairs rising up,

  the whoop of the hoover
  looting the carpet

  and the bloodless dusters
  hanging like heads

  from the clothes-horse. Sun
  flays the table

  with white blades of light;
  knives and forks

  rattle the top drawer.
  In the bathroom,

  taps run hot and cold,
  white tiles
  sweat in a frenzy.
  And look, look

  at the towels, barricades,
  and the steam, how

  even the toothpaste is

From Robinson Crusoe's Bank Holiday Monday