Family Fortunes

Dinner times were brutal

The small talk barbaric

We dined from each other

The whole family


Father would get home from work

And stick his fork

Straight into Mother

His blood boiling

The kettle whistling

I stayed silent

Each of us dreaming

Of ways to die

Dessert was a dish

Always served cold

No time for coffee

Just the bill

The cost of another round

The cost of another days lies

I excused myself

And crept upstairs

Where you would be waiting for me

And as we lay together

Exploring our bodies

Playing each other like instruments

From a far off land

We smiled

Breakfast was hours off

Between then and now

The nectar like release

Of sleep

Of dreams.

┬ęStuart Buck