Not my reality but written from perspective of watching my grandmother deal with my drunken grandfather
Tiptoeing around the small house He is drunk again Will he be foe or friend Hard to know Whether to be fast or slow Hurry get the coffee Or help him sleep it off Just let it go When he wakes up Will he be in love Or still pickled from drink Will he yell or sing Waiting on the aftermath Of his drunken stabs at coping With frustrations of Being black in a white world No one understands Why beside him I can stand Is it because we are Till death do us part Yin for yang despite Heartache rain pain I am calm he is storm This is our norm
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