Family Tea

is there not a battle left to win? for all of those girls and for those boys who hate their mummys and daddys and want to throw rocks, smash glass, scream louder louder LOUDER until grandma's best blue vase breaks into four china segments on the kitchen tiles. for all of those babies in baskets which the stork dropped 'cause he got distracted by television, chip shops, the gambling man, the hot weather cloud, society, certain death. such lack of concentration, no ability, petty quarrels and flying plates hit wall hit ceiling. mankind; the adults are squashed - byebyeoxygen - beneath the giant hand of inevitabilty that floods their ears and nostrils while we, so young and free fly up (through the bulldozed brick piles, black sweat tarmac, hot shovels, detritus flakes littering the burned up patio) and burst out into earth like sweet wallflowers, into the warm july breeze to scream back at your taunts, you parents; why the lies? if i eat this carrot my eyes will not become torches, there is not a blackcloakedpaedophile under my bed, if i go cross eyed the wind will not grapple with my pupils until they stay that way. why did you tell us that you were always right? that we we were always wrong? that we should always listen. when i break out of our already broken household - because daddy walked out (said he fell in love with a nice blonde girl) and left mummy on her own with big tears, just some really informative sciencebooks, and nine year old with falling out hair; leukaemia bruises up and down legs - i am so free. i love the night air, the solitude, the gravel and the dirt rolling down my back under my t-shirt, the cigarette breath making smokeclouds and ghost shapes out my mouth, the flickery streetlamp, the empty road, the empty pavement, the no oneness. it is here; in this moment i detest mankind