When You've Got - Helen Dunmore

When you’ve got the plan of your life

matched to the time it will take

but you just want to press SHIFT / BREAK

and print over and over

this is not what I was after

this is not what I was after.

When you’ve finally stripped out the house

with its iron-cold fireplace,

its mouldings, its mortgage,

its single-skin walls

but you want to write in the plaster

“This is not what I was after,”

when you’ve got the rainbow-clad baby

in his state-of-the-art pushchair

but he arches his back at you

and pulps his Activity Centre

and you just want to whisper

“This is not what I was after,”

when the vacuum seethes and whines in the lounge

and the waste-disposal unit blows,

when tenners settle in your account

like snow hitting a stove,

when you get a chat from your spouse

about marriage and personal growth,

when a wino comes to sleep in your porch

on your Citizen’s Charter

and you know a hostel’s opening soon

but your headache’s closer

and you really just want to torch

the bundle of rags and newspaper

and you’ll say to the newspaper

"This is not what we were after,

this is not what we were after.”