Mt Olympus

I was given Mount Olympus

As my actual stage.

A hill to climb

A cul-de-sac

Surrounded by my rage.

A young one had to built this.

One filled with angst and grit.

In lots of ways

I’ve always been

That sparkly little shit.

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BUT
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Olympus wasn’t what you see,

Bright farmhouse on hill,

The roof it leaked

The rooms were dark.

“Good bones” without the will.

Nothing much to see, she was

A’fore we were an /Us/.

A nervous child

Neglected

With no one there to fuss.

The perfect love of mother.

And with her tender care.

A house rebuilt

A family grown

All with clean underwear.

So that was Mount Olympus

A laundry room for six

A mountain of

Our laundry here

A room / to clean / to fix.

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