Fragment 3

He came off the slip road at 50
thinking about breakfast. That floating
turd of meat, the salted rashers and
saturated globules.
Mother, disapproving, father a fellow conspirator.
That sound of shards of crystal falling from
21 years to the kitchen floor, the accusations,
justifications, reconciliations.
His wife would wait, then worry, contact authority,
after praying call the police. Nothing to be told ma'am
but the sinking of hearts.
Colleagues would chatter and scandal; perhaps they
feel most for the guilt of a slanderer
can pale. They silently question who they should
pray for.
And memory's shades? They linger on, children
to our eyes, whilst children do not comprehend.