This family Life

There's indentations

on the chipboard wall.

 

From bedposts

punched sex

and addiction.

 

Take away menus

on the door mat

glossing over

red gasbills.

 

Her birthday card.

 

A worn keyhole

is busted

with burn marks

and glue.

 

There's a carved name

on the doorframe.

 

Unfinished

and uncontested.

 

The front step milk

curdles sweetly

from four days hot wind

sparrow pecks

and piss.

 

Crisp bags

chicken legs

and chips.

crunch the

pavement.

 

There's torn photos

in the dustbin.

A teddy bear

with one ear.

 

There's a blood transfusion

in intensive care.

 

A little girl lost on the streets.

 

And shattered knuckles

heading north.

 

This family life.