Gone
No time for breakfast, snatch a cereal bar,
anger at mislaid keys to the car.
He vents his spleen at anything that moves
she dishes out a look that disapproves.
The children eat their toast, their heads kept down
until the door slams as he leaves for town.
Alone, mid-morning, ploughing through the chores
her revery broke with knocking at the door.
Policemen on the step, their faces grim
mouths never moved, but eyes said 'it was him'.
The first of many tears now glazed her cheek,
she crumpled just as they began to speak.
In case it be your last, maybe do this-
start each day with ' I love you' and a kiss.
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