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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: October 31, 2016

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Submitted: October 31, 2016



Enid slept badly.

Voices came and went,
winds blew,
trains shunted.

She woke up slowly
to a grey morning.

The voices had stopped,
just the birds singing.

Had the rowing stopped?
Where was her father?

She sat on the side
of her narrow bed.

She could still feel where
her father hit her.

Back to how it was:
him hitting them both.

She got up and walked
to the bedroom door.

She listened for sounds,
but nothing was there.

She opened the door
and looked down the hall.

Had he gone to work?
Had her father gone?

She walked down the hall
to the small toilet.

Went past their bedroom,
the green door still closed.

Went to the toilet
and sat on the seat.

She felt the chill bite
at her naked feet.

What would Benny say
when she told him all?
Things don't change he'd say:
your old man's a suck.

Benny often said
your old man's a suck.

She heard fresh voices;
her father was up.

She heard his footsteps.

The door handle shook:
is that you Enid?
Her father called out.

Won't be long, she said.

You better not be,
her father replied.

They were arguing,
both her mum and dad.

She finished quickly
and opened the door.

Good about time to,
her father shouted,
what you been doing,
laying bloody eggs?

He went in and shut
the door behind him.

Enid saw her mum
by her bedroom door,
her thin arms folded,
her hair in curlers.

Best get washed and dressed
and don't be too long,
her mother told her.

Enid washed and dressed,
then ate her breakfast.

Still her parents rowed
loudly from the hall.

What would Benny say
when she told him this?

Your old man's a suck
and give her a kiss.

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