Poem Hunter
Time To Find Daddy
GS (19/1/90 / birmingham (England))

Time To Find Daddy

She had had enough
Five kids
One good for nothing husband
A cat, two rabbits
Poor, brasic, skint
Not a pot to pee in

Fridays used to be fun
Nowadays she waits
Knowing he's down the pub
Buying strangers drinks
With her keep

How could he swear on the Bible so many times?

She takes a long pull of her Marlboro
Bloody loser
What am I gonna do?
She sips her tea
Takes another drag of her fag
Surprised that the girls weren't begging for food.

Time to find daddy
She loads the three youngest in the pram
Opens the door and steps outside
The cold air enveloped them
Wrapping around the little ones cheeks
Turning them crimson.
They cried

Alison ran ahead
Playing a private game
Chanting ‘fat cow, fat cow, fat cow'
The little ones settled with dummies in their gobs
Blankets over their legs

‘When we get there, Sharon, I want you to go in'
‘Do I have to? Can't Alison go? She likes him'
‘No, I trust that one about as far as I can throw her. You're going, end of story. Just tell him you want money. I'm outside. And if he doesn't give you twenty quid I'm coming in and kicking ten shades out of him'

They walk the two miles in silence
Through deserted streets
Arriving at Nags Head
The pub sign an orange glow
Inviting fathers

‘Waste your life away! '

The stench of rotten beer seeped from the bricks, windows and door
The sound of drunken singing
Deep and slurred

‘They fly so high
Nearly reach the sky…'

Sharon pushes the heavy wooden door
Wasted words escape

‘Fortune's always hiding!
I've looked everywhere!
I'm forever blowing bubbles

The door closes
The youngest giggles

‘You think that's funny? Are the drunk' men funny? You want chips? '

The little girl nodded, sucking her dummy as though manna might emerge
She kissed the girls head
And marched on the spot
Her wooden soles clip clopping like a Palomino
Cigarette in her mouth
Chomping at the bit
A mixture of smoke and steam bellowing from her nostrils

Five minutes pass. Sharon with five pounds
‘It's all he has'
‘He got paid two hours ago'
‘He's been drinking for seven'
She snatches the cash

The door opened so fast the hinges sparked
She hears him first
Funny man
Ha, ha, ha!
Then sees him
At the bar
Surrounded by losers

She walks up beside him. Picks up his pint
And pours if over his head
The bar erupts with laughter

She spins on her platform heels
And exits

The little ones are sitting up
Wide eyed
Dummies sucked in tight
Red raw cheeks
Alison and Sharon stood either side of the pram
She holds the crisp five-pound note out and snaps it in the air.

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Other poems of SANDERS (1)

Robert Frost

The Road Not Taken

Comments (2)

Walking forward along a perimeter! ...yes; what else we on this revolving earth can do? Or do we 'walk' in retrograde against a 'forward' moving world? A well thought out deeply conceived write...10...
Like road signs along the way