Of Rape and Love

The sunlight shines through the front window; 
you wake to the smell of stale alcohol and the 
sweat – can you face it again? I don't mind if 
you wander through this empty house again,  but 
I wish we had furniture and food enough to survive.  
There's a body in your cupboard and you hope your children 
won't live to see it. Well, all decent poetry should have a narrative  
and with love and sex and torture foretold, I think we're fine to go. 
 
The little girl wakes from her slumber on your coffee table and she  
thinks she's fine to go. Well, the drugs you gave are wearing thin – is 
it time for another go? Oh dear! Look at the stars, my dear! You won't 
remember this when the sun rises again. A perfect crime, a good head-start - 
you won't be looking at prison bars very long. The stars bring hope and 
despair in equal measure – and the judicial system has failed the victims. 
Things are unwinding by the courthouse and she's about to take your life. Bang! Bang! And the 
good ship sails again, I think we're fine to go. 
 
The little boy wakes to the sound of punk rock and blatant plagiarism,  
his complaints  go unanswered as his captor starts a family. A nuclear family? 
With eyes abound and calling cards, the mutations are setting in. Oh dear! The guilt –  
in all its forms – is hidden in apathy and in styrofoam walls that refuse to speak. But wait! 
He can fix this life himself, just watch and hold his hand – try to stop the descent. He's  
been living a lonely life – he keeps his family on the outside and calls nobody a friend 
because nobody has bothered to ask him why. It's all he needed from the start – he 
just sits and drinks cheap red wine in anticipation of a parade of black cars and marble.
I think we're fine to go.