when the clock struck 1
those just gone to bed
held their wine glass heads, ringing inside-outside
and thought it was a call back to the bar
because they could still remember too much of the evening.
when the clock struck 2
the attic mice took their cue
to don dancing shoes, practiced the Argentine tango –
rehearsed the fiery flicks and kicks
slick and sensual, heels clipping along dusty floorboards.
when the clock struck 3
the plumbing turned pathfinder
water a-gush through, up, down every pipe in the house,
explored every u-bend, flushed and gurgled,
and the night-widdlers trying so hard to be silent, failed. Again.
when the clock struck 4
it was answered by the owl in the oak tree that taps the kitchen window,
that harmonised with creaks and groans with every buffet
of wind – that was also responsible for the swinging garden gate
banging drum and the fox’s harsh-eerie percussive bark.
when the clock struck 5
it lighted a touch paper that ignited snoring that rose
deep and rumbling from hell-pits, like a surge of howling Orcs,
clashing swords to shields in abandon, which probably accounted
for accompanying body-heaving and elbow jabbing.
when the clock struck 6
small elephant feet pattered along the hallway
high piping voices encouraged each other to be shhh-quiet
tiny fingers pried up an eyelid to check if the victim was ‘wake-yet?
Shocked gasps exploded after eyes opened nose-to-nose, eyeball-to-eyeball, in half-light.
when the clock struck 7
the kettle was on for a refill,
CBeebies was inciting over-early creative stickiness in the lounge
involving a rice crispy and buttered toast bedecked sofa
and head thumps in time to the washing machine drum hiccupping mid-cycle
when the clock struck 8
whirlwinds tore through the house
banging at bathroom doors to demand priority use
seizing eatables from any unguarded plate mid-hurtle to the door
some of them even shout bye!
when the clock struck 9
a creation of cardboard and tissue paper was stuck fast to the kitchen table
the floor flashed iridescent with multi-coloured glitter, and small scientists
investigated if bath-bombs remove glue from stuck-together-fingers, which they didn’t
but they did coat baths and sinks with psychedelic patterns, also stuck fast.
when the clock struck 10
petite people demanded second breakfast with menaces.
Despite feverish ransacking, no paracetamol can be found –
not even at the back of the drawer with the cookie cutters.
Hungry ones are thrown the last of the sliced loaf, peanut butter and a blunt knife.
when the clock struck 11
the shopping delivery arrived and towered in a magnificent mountain –
a barricade between front door and the rest of the house,
where small people in muddy wellies ran over the freshly washed kitchen floor,
which now bore only random areas of rainbow twinkle, and onto the lounge carpet.
when the clock struck 12
the house held its breath as little mites were napping after helping to ferry shopping
to the kitchen, in a convoy of wheeled toys – and the eggs
were probably superfluous to need anyway and coffee would have been soo good –
but it was missed off the order. Crying happened.
when the clock began to strike 13
everyone was singing wheels on the bus, with synchronised arm movements,
which was tricky when driving – but kept you awake,
because when the clock finished striking 13 it reverted to automatic default –
exist through afternoon and evening, ensuring no one dies, adult senses deadened
by exhaustion, in acceptance of fate,
until folk under a metre in height finally collapse into bed – usually not their own,
and adults succumb to the sofa, and often alcohol, even on a Wednesday,
until the cycle starts again.