The house with a clock on its wall

Julie sits and waits for her soaps to start, eating chocolate
she wipes her hands on her dressing gown,
and turns the pages of an old smiling photo album,
each snap separated by a thin layer of tissue.

She glances at an IKEA wall clock
that needs a battery change,
It’s been watching them for years.
Curved ash drops of Julie’s cigarette onto the arm
of the settee, she smears it in before
taking another odourless drink.

A TV set in the corner holds two small girls captive,
both sit cross-legged doing homework
deep inside the acoustic bubble.
They eat handfuls of cereal for supper,
then take themselves off to bed, tell stories to each other.

Ron has just nipped out to the pub
he’s only having one with the lads
but now its five or six and he’s gone to get fish and chips
just to make things right again.

As he stumbles around the familiar corner
he notices the flames and starts to run.
Julie is outside, barefoot on the pavement.
Where are the girls he asks, but Julie can only point,
a bedroom window explodes in the heat
and both parents fall to their knees.

As the two girls come running out of the house,
the second hand of the melting clock
begins to move. As the family cry and hug each other,
it falls from the wall.