There’s tension in the air

Dad’s angry, accuses both
the lads of smoking weed:
I’m not daft – I can smell it
like a bloody bonfire in yer bedroom.
We told the both of yer. Grounded.
Forra week!
Aw, Dad, complains Paddy
But Dad.. says Frankie,
I have ter go to extra revision,
every Tuesday, er, evening.
When Dad looks to Mam
she says nowt, but shrugs
and lights another tab
and turns away.
Well if Frankie can go out
so can I, Paddy’s rebellious,
I’ve got important things too.
THAT’S IT roars Dad
I divvent believe either of yer
lying little shites.
Yer stayin in tonight
and every night this week.
Ye can work at home.
They sit and Mam serves out a meal
in silence. Dad takes his plate
into the sitting room, Frank takes his upstairs
Mam sits at the kitchen table,
Paddy says
I’m not hungry and slams into the back yard
to tinker with a buckled wheel.

This entry was posted in Hom: Ellen Phethean. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.