Dinners

A short poem about evenings with a dysfunctional family

Dinners

Candle lit dinners
Flickering images
Glazed sedated eyes
Filled with silent smoldering anger
Slowly sipping her nectar
Licking her glistening lips
She waits to strike
Like a raging coiled cobra
Soon to be slaughtered
By our drunken gladiator
We tip-toe slowly
Carefully
Through another
Evening's minefield
And then...
As always
She explodes
Hot burning napalm
Scared
Confused
Bleeding to death
We scramble around
Like shamed beaten dogs
Trying to make sense
Of senselessness
And praying
For daylight