The sofa split some years ago
The gas fire hisses as if
through broken teeth.
Colin tries to stir up hope
On the Baby Belling whilst the TV screen sucks
the kids in like flecks of dust.
A manufactured crisis for some pop star wannabe
Stabs out from the fat old tube.
The crowd scream – no wonder.
And Colin stares into the tangled noodles wondering
What might become of the children
For not one of them can sing.
But their faces, lit by cathode light