On entering the dining room, the atmosphere turns cold
I want to make a swift exit as the argument unfolds
Poor Father looks so dreary, Mother is too highly strung;
I am terrified of the woman, for she has a poisoned tongue
Mother scolds me for not knocking, Father just smiles
Oh Father why won’t you stand up to her once in a while?
The conversation is minimal, how have things gotten this way?
We sit eating expensive cuisine, with not a word between us to say.
©Sophie Bowns 2011-2014