MONDAY 20th JULY 2009.

I’m trying to shackle the intractable characters
In my life but it’s becoming difficult to know
Where to nail them. A basement would be the
First place for such work, but I’m currently
Unable to lay my hands on one, and even if I
Could I wouldn’t have lungs enough to last in
The damp and laminated atmosphere down
There. An attic would be an attractive alternative,
And sufficiently risk free, assuming it grew at
The top of my own home and not someone
Else’s, but since all I have are barren rafters
And no loft hatch then that option’s out. A
Garden shed requires a hedged bed of land to
Stand upon and old coal houses are usually
Crowded on the end of terraced dwellings, and
Not very private, while the option of a lock up
Somewhere in the wilderness or under railway
Arches usually necessitates the involvement of
Invoices. A possible stable to pen them would
Be the pantry which has often been hung with
Meat but is currently draped in drying sheets
And sundry laundrette metal, though it also
Houses an old chest freezer that’s not been used
For years. So that leaves me with little choice
Than to snare them in the spare bedroom
Where my sister fed her journals a constant
Diet of teenage desire and is now stocked with
Boxes and less handsomely stored ornaments,
And although hardly insulated the neighbours
Make so much noise of their own that the sound
Of me impounding my critics won’t mean much
And I can be about the business of easing their
Resistance without being disturbed at work.