Waiting -

< previous ... next> Waiting. Waiting for the first sound of their steps on the pavement outside. Waiting for him coughing or sniffing the air. Waiting for him to stamp on the step. Or fall against the door, banging. Waiting. Waiting for the scraping of his key against the lock; waiting for it to click. Waiting for the sound to form in our lounge. Front door slam and quiet. Sleeping. They think I'm asleep but I'm not. Not. But how come when I close my eyes at night I can see his face? Why can't there just be black, nothing there? How can I say, "Good morning, dad" when I see him next day at breakfast, when the night before I heard him shout at mum he wanted to kill her? How can I say, "I love you, dad", "Can you sign this for my teacher, please, dad?"? How can I say anything like that? Does he want to kill mum? Waiting. Waiting for her, for Dee, she's coming round in a while. I can't wait for her to come, she's coming in a while. It's pretty good 'cause we both like and know the same games; it's the holidays next week. We will see each other every day. Every day. Every day. How can I say, "I love you, dad", "Can you sign this for my teacher, please, dad?"? How can I say anything like that? How can I say, "Good morning, dad" when I see him next day at breakfast, when the night before I heard him shout at mum he wanted to kill her? Waiting. Watching, waiting in the cold for it to take me away. Waiting for mum to run upstairs. Waiting for the horrible bang on my door. As he pushes her against my door. One day, I won't be waiting, waiting; Here in the dark; not any more. She will be with me. We'll be together every day. < previous ... next>

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