Pegs: A Study of Domestic Insurgency.



The humble peg leads a perilous existence,

always watching for the chance of escape.


Cornered hems of a teatowel clamped

swashbucklingly between its teeth,

it leads the charge,

as a superhero-in-training slays stuffed toys.




Jaws overstretched

(like an anaconda swallowing a goat)

around a quilted, 100% rayon, dressing gown

on a clothes horse stabled near the radiator,

The tension will be broken by a warcry:


 as the peg flings itself, murderously springloaded,

at the eyes of innocent passersby

carrying their cuppa back to the comfy chair to catch up

on Fair City.




Plastic shards

Seen in their final repose,

spiking the squelch of

Digested dog’s dinner,

waiting in the weeds beneath the washing line,

Bear testament to puppy boredom.


Freedom has its price.

Yeah, because there aren’t enough middle-aged white women bloggers….

I’m a dreadful procrastinator. I learned it from my mother, who was hemming my bridesmaids’ gowns while the photographer took pictures of me in my wedding dress.  Once she found, in a suitcase under the bed, a dress she had cut out and pinned together for me back in 1973. She’d moved house four times since then, taking the suitcase with her.  She finally stitched it together and it looked lovely – on my three year old daughter.

Better late than never.

I’m unpacking some baggage too, I guess, before it weighs me down and follows me around.  I should have done that years ago….