Mealtimes together as it should be,
Sitting at the table, one two three.
But where is he? No-where to be seen.
We begin to eat – not much speak,
Anxiety already building,
Mouth dry -I want to cry
I know what’s coming.
A little while later he opens the door
Shouts some more
Tears a flow – I want to go
But am told to ‘fucking eat!’
My throat has closed, swallowing defeated
Things get heated.
I want to know why she won’t ask him to go.