There is smoke in the air
There is smoke in the air
The smell of bacon
From the kitchen
The fire in the belly of the whale
Smoulders
As he snoozes
The fat of his bloating, coating
The underside of his vest.
She is pushing the baby
Out of the door
The ooze of another tattoo
Still red from the needle
Homemade handmaid
A pretty charade
To cover the scar
From the blade
Honed in anger and spit.
Living in fear
For so long she feels at home
In despair
Walking dark streets
The baby rattling in the chair
Prattling for want of feeding.
Smelly, dirty and unkempt
She feels the contempt
Of strangers
Even in the dark
When she can smile unseen.
Singing to herself
Well remembered songs
From a time long gone
When her dreams were different.
Until they became tainted
With the strain of living
In the shadow
Of the gutter
The stench of disease
The pain of disaffection.
There is no heaven
In her marriage
No comfort in her bed
No welcome in the eyes of
The people she meets.
He remains supine
Half asleep and half awake
He is a devil for his liquor
Has an appetite for bruising
Whilst caressing
Her skin
With the back of his hand.
He calls it love
But whatever else
No matter the pain
Snow, hail or rain
She will still
Get back home
Before he wakes for his supper.