Tyranny of Temper
It was the first time in years the four of them had been all together.
“Hey, do ya’ll know the riddle of the sphinx?” “This should be our family version.”
“What pouts in the morning, laughs at noon, and cries in the evening?”
“That’s an easy one, our mother.” “Or how about this one, what praises you in
the morning, berates you in the afternoon, and beats the living hell out of you
in the evening?” “That’s right our father.”
“Let it go ya’ll, they’re both dead.”
“I disagree, they live on in us.” “We’ve all been tainted by their ways.”
“Hell let’s look at the score.” ”We have two failed marriages and me too afraid to try.” “Three rehab trips and if we’re honest more needed.” “One child in the
Juvenile system and two others are strung out addicts.”
“What a crock of !!” shouts the oldest.
In unison the other three, “Okay dad.”
They stand together in sort of a group hug and pass around a knowing glance
Each of them aware of the battle to overcome being raised
In a home dominated by the tyranny of temper
And decorated with the malevolence of mood.
Copyright © Kenneth Cheney | Year Posted 2020
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