By Geja Hadderingh
Everything about her life is immaculately clean and tidy, apart from her two boys.
She lives a ‘clean queen’ existence disturbed only by her sons’ filthy sportswear, snotty noses, and fingerprints clinging to door handles.
Even their conception had been clinical; no need for the mess of a man in her life.
Picking up the teaspoon, recklessly left next to the sink, she mutters to herself, “They’ll be the death of me.”
On a breezy afternoon, the boys quietly scatter damp soil onto her oak coffin.
In unison, as if practised, they wipe their hands on the backs of their trousers.
Funny – love the reckless teaspoon.
Poor boys.