Woodchip paper on the walls.
Polystyrene tiles on the ceiling.
Pitted and marked skirting boards.
Paint on the front door peeling.

The lounge carpet lays threadbare.
The oven could do with a clean.
The sink is cracked, a tap drips,
And the bath is hardly pristine.

Flowers in the vase are plastic.
The radiogram has one station.
There’s no lampshade in the parlour.
Dusty surfaces invite asphyxiation.

Layer upon layer of old wallpaper.
Drawing pins still in the dado rail.
Fly papers dangle, full of dead flies.
A towel in the kitchen, limp on a nail

The garden’s in a right old state.
The flowerbeds need weeding.
Long grass needs a good mowing,
The climbing rose is receding.