It was me

It was me

No, it was me

We are all Spartacus

Creaked the stairs

In unison

The settling of the house

A battle for supremacy

Between the old and new

Could never have been

More clear

Than in the corner

Where the newer wall

Met the old

Daylight shone between them

As subsidence

Gradually

Broke the house

In two

The hall was humpbacked

Rolling down drunk

Brought a tumble

To the downstairs loo

For a quick release.

An extension to a Victorian

Was a wave through

In the days before

Rock-n-roll

When a cup of tea

And a sausage roll

Could get the go-ahead

From the town hall

Works department

These days a greasy palm

Meant real graft

And offshore accounts

Whatever they are.

They would never

Sell the old house

Without underpinning

But no way could they

Afford to pay hard cash.

Even a backhander

Was likely to end in tears

Perhaps they could

Have an accident

With a faulty circuit

A space heater

In the Garage

A candlestick

In the parlour.

Perhaps the vicar

Would give his blessing

They had filled his collection plate

More than once

His cup should be runneth over

With gratitude

The hypocrite

With insincere platitudes

And an eye for the ladies.

Perhaps they could

Have the lead off his roof,

The bailiffs would soon

Have the coat off their back,

Sell at a discount

For scrap.

It might just be enough

To pay their bills

Before the church roof

And their house

Fell down.