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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required A plate smashes against the kitchen wall In the middle of another Sunday lunch war For a moment I feel as if I'm not really there As I stop and stare at this world I live in But do not comprehend Across from me John Been drinking again Since he woke Fueling his senseless hatred Driving his rage He's shouting at my mother Telling her she's an ugly useless witch His mouth moves slowly As I watch every cruel word come alive Perfectly formed To exhort in so few words The maximum hurt His hair combed over Attempting to hide his baldness Dry and graying Betraying his denial of age His fat belly hanging through his cardigan As I rush to eat before the arguments start The stains on his fingers tell of at least 30 a day Together with the evidence collected On the kitchens ceilings, cupboards and walls Behind me the door to the garden Behind him escape to the hall I know how long it takes to reach them both I know how long it takes for him to get up Expert in the pitch in his voice Where he starts using his fist Professor in when to fight and when to play dead As I look on I hardly taste the food I rush before the time When more plates begin to fly Today it is my sister I did not know but today she would leave Finally had enough she threw her plate And stood screaming at him Of all the horrible things he is She threw her plate Peas and gravy Run from his hairy chest to fat belly You'd almost want to laugh If you knew the joke would last But he did not see the comedy For a moment the whole kitchen seemed to be in the air My plate and food had become another tool This raging Sunday afternoon Through the house anger raged Battles scarring every room Today I was but a witness As his focus turned to my sister And what she had dared to do With words only falling silent When replaced with the thud As he punched my sister in the stomach And a child years a way Joined his list of casualties As he returned to his bottle To lose what he had just done We took my sister away But in those senseless times My mother and I returned And when my own time came to leave When his fist met my face His dog bit at my legs I guess I always knew I would never forget Flying saucers and plates And my sisters wonderful aim
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