The house shuddered and wheeled, passing out before birdsong, to when the kids twitched and stir, eyes at the half-open, door-hesitant and sleep-slow, finding a path barefoot past this aluminium that glass, stopping only to look at the broken chair, each other, a dad curled up on the dog shelf, the fire that was, now grey ash and bottle tops, this is the way, again, Cocopops and too much milk, a balancing act up a narrow staircase, get into bed with Mum, don’t spill.