Sis

I knew something bad was about to happen,
lying in bed, in newly pressed pyjamas,
Jimmy Greaves ghosting past defenders on the wall
the early autumn sky had shown signs of change
so I knew the day was about to end poorly.


A bang, wood on wood, a muffled squeal from you
and then your charge up the staircase
followed by much heavier stomping
ricocheting along the sparse landing, past me
I could hear you crying as my legs swung down to the lino.


But then he started shouting,
he never shouted, never, other than to the dog,
palms over my ears, I heard the noise but not the words
then quiet, apart from your sobs
and all I could think was, how upset you had made him.


Thank God we woke to a Sunday
the whole day spent avoiding strewn eggshells
he could hardly look at you, betrayed,
and my schoolboy ignorance faded month by month
at the sign of your fattening belly.





© Graham Sherwood 10/2015