I am expressing my creativity
With the odds and sods of paint left in tins
from the hall cupboard of our council flat.
“Let her be” says my father,
calm and confident of his daughter’s
“That woodchip didn’t come free in the post you know”
My mother confirms.
She rolls pastry and the pins in her hair rollers bob
as she shakes her head.
“Magnolia is fine and fresh,
If she just took those stupid posters doon…”
The lid of an apple pie is jabbed with a fork.
Sounds of the 70’s rock the room
as I stand back to admire my work.
Clouds of emulsion cover every surface;
The walls, ceiling and that horrible old furniture
we got when Granny passed.
I switch on my Lava Lamp and lying on my single bed
breathe in the fumes of the discarded tins.
Maybe a few silvery stars?
I know you can’t see clouds at night,
but artistic licence holds no bounds, right?
The clouds part
as my father pokes his head through the doorway.
He smiles. I smile.
He turns to my mother
Who is champing at the bit to get past him.
“You maybe don’t want to see this right now.”
He tactfully suggests.