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Maladjusted
When the sh*t hits the fan and the plates hit the walls
And Mummy’s voice screeches, “You ain’t got the balls”
The sound of wood splintering leaves kids with hunches
That once again Daddy ain’t pulling his punches
At least it was wood this time - unlike before
When what Daddy fractured was not just a door
And Daddy’s voice shouts, ‘I work all that I’m able
but when I come home, I want food on the table!”
Upstairs, the children cannot speak their fears
Three kids on their beds with their hands on their ears
While five year old Lucy is wiping her tears
And Tommy chants ‘La La’ to drown what he hears
But ten year old Gerry, wise, for a young lad
Has a best friend with a Saturday Dad
He seems to get by, and he states with a sigh
“I get to go places… and Mum doesn’t cry.”
With siblings sent ‘up’ with no food in their tummy
Because Daddy had to, “Have words with your Mummy.”
Gerry, would get them the food they were lacking
He wasn’t surprised to find Daddy was packing
He’d taken a chance when the rows turned to silence
Which had to be better than out and out violence
Daddy said, “Don’t creep about like a mouse…
from now on, Son… you are the man of the house.”
Lucy was young and she idolised Dad
Tommy was older and, for a while, bad
But Gerry now charged with his own father’s plan
At just ten years old… became a young man
And with Daddy gone to a town far away
Gerry stayed home till his mum had gone grey
But one day she had a new man on her hand
And Gerry was happy to make his own stand
Twas eighteen months later this very deep thinker
Let a girl get to him, hook, line and sinker
He hugged her and kissed her the day she miscarried
Yet he and the woman he loved… never married
Copyright ©
Terry Flood
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