Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Hank will break that down.
Fit into new parts. That
Philosophy of Father’s making.
Mother’d make faces behind
His broad back. Sister’d count
The days to her next monthly.
Hank will prepare words, set
Them in their place, the well
Oiled coinage of conversation.
Father would listen like some
Sturdy priest in confessional,
His face set in stone, his eyes
Cold as ice. Mother would
Snigger; hand over her mouth,
Her shoulders shaking. Sister
Would regret her fond lover’s
Touch, the spreading of legs,
The five-minute fuck. Hank will
Count the nights until he leaves
Home, sister at his side, walking
The long mile. Mother would
Frown now, no longer her smile.
Father’d shut them out, keep
Wife from his bed, and son and
Daughter from his heart and head.

Thank you the mingo.