The bonnet of our Punto
is propped open with a wooden spoon.
My face and shirt are smudged with oil,
bits of engine are scattered across the front lawn
like Children's toys.
You stand on the doorstep
with your arms folded, and say:
"We need to get a man in."
In our shed is a Flymo edge trimmer,
a Black & Decker Jigsaw,
a Bosch cordless screwdriver
still in their boxes
lined up like *Star Wars* collectibles;
because whenever something goes wrong
you shake your head and I know you're thinking
of the time I tried to fix the washing machine
and flooded the utility room.
And when I fixed the guttering
the ladder fell to the floor. I had to wait on the roof
until you came home.
So when something needs doing
you say "We need to get a man in."
The stubs in my checkbook
There's a man in our living room now
trying to install a wireless connection.
He has been in there for two hours.
I take him a cup of tea
and see: his head in his hands, instruction book
thrown to the floor. Suddenly
we are equals.