Bastille Day, 1987

We’d moved from teaching post, squeezed in
with offset printer, guillotine,
into suburban home,
to set up business on our own;
two teenagers with all their stuff,
and toddler, we had room enough,
but none to spare,
and paper boxes everywhere.

And then we realised, full in sight,
that paper guillotine stood, upright
there in the window, as if to say
‘today, you know, is Bastille Day’.

Soon put away, but hardly better,
much used – for paper! – sometime later
it stood (unnoticed!) by our bed,
and when we had to move once more,
the agent, looking round the door …

[IP this week: Bastille Day – Storming the battlements. This verse has no connection with the latter, but the words ‘Bastille Day’ brought back this tale to mind]