Camping
On Saturday in Lewisham
When I was just a little ‘un
When I couldn’t play outside
Because of rain or when I’d lied
I’d get the ladder off my bunk
I’d get the clothes horse
And a trunk
I’d get the sheets off of my bed
I’d tie a tie around my head
And using all the furnishings
Curtains, rugs and railings
The room I would transform into
A den or pirate ship or two
With my sister close in tow
And my brother who seemed to know
The best ways to balance the desk
And always knew what books were best
For weighing down the cleanish sheets
And making sure that it was all neat
So that the longest time could pass
Before my mother at long last
Comes all the way up the stairs to check
And finds my room a complete wreck
She tells me at once to tidy up
And as she turns and sips her cup
I think that that is all,
But on the way out she sees something
And then begins to bawl:
“My clean sheets!” I hear her cry
Her face is full of fury
But then my brother steps in
As sober as a jury.
He takes the blame and tidies up
And folds away the sheets
He grins at me and whispers
“We’ll do the same next week.”
