Crying from such an incredible angle
Beneath the candelabra
Holding on for Dear life
If only she could write a letter, because that is exactly what you do when you barely know someone
Something in this instance
Already pock-marked, amazing really, a dire case of Benjamin Button perhaps
Seems she’d take the rewind with open arms right now
Like candy from a baby
A spirit severely untouched, a little or a lot too early to grasp all that she might just deserve
Ghastly mother, unkempt – post-natal
Quivering, shaking, a loose cannon, oven gloves on hand
Taking after father rather than daughter, too depressed to know any better
A hollow mind with holes all over, unable to even as much as prepare herself to lend a cold shoulder
Misdirected, very nearly folding the dishes
Baby stops and stares, looking, searching, for as little as a wing and a prayer
Father interrupts, leans on over, an entirely different kind of shoulder, hope as opposed to cold if only for a while
Glass-eyed smile, taking her in amid the silent din going on outside not in
Dipping a whiskey-stained finger at the tip of her lip
Fruitful albeit dangerous, it’s all in the genes
Ill-equipped
Two addled parents who turned out way to keen right from the beginning
I’m the next-door neighbour and I’ve seen it all before
Just seven baby steps and I get to knock on that door