Dinner,
Is simple,
Smiley fries and chicken,
No one wants to cook on Christmas.
Dog,
Walks by and heaves,
Father shouts and kicks her,
Enraged at a spoiled meal on the holiday.
Mother,
She scorns him,
It is not dog's fault,
Father replies with venom.
I,
Walk upstairs in tears,
I cry for dog,
For the injustice she faced.
I,
Cry for me and mother,
Tears flowing,
Christmas spoiled.
Mother,
Calms down,
Determination renewed,
She brings us together to eat the meal.
Smiley fries,
Mock us with joyful faces,
As we eat in uneasy silence,
Dog sits next to me.
Father,
Pretends nothing of such sort has occurred,
He asks us about days and gifts,
Casually as if he can not see my puffy eyes.
YOU ARE READING
Uncertain Poetry
PoezjaPoetry? That just isn't too sure of itself. Deep and shallow, short and long. It's quite curious and is an adventure of the mind.
