Plus ça change ...

Some lines I wrote in June 1999 when Number #3 Son was 14:

This is the corner where Andrew dumps 
His blazer, his school books, some cricket stumps
A bag overflowing with mud-spattered kit,
A scuffed pair of school shoes which only just fit. 
A Walkman, two batteries, much crumpled A4, 
– And all of it blocking the stair-cupboard door.

This is the corner where Mother sighs 
And dreams of perfection and dabs at her eyes. 
She pictures a house full of antiques and roses, 
Shining silver, wax polish and sweet garden posies. 
Then, stooping to pick up the boy-type detritus 
She groans in distress, “Ooh, my poor old arthritis!” 
The hard truth is dawning, it’s sad, but it’s true 
The only antique in this house, Mum, is you.


And in May 2022:

Nothing much changes! I believe he’s back home for a bit …