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
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