Loved you when you were broke
Eased you when you were sore.
Existed through all the infliction
To make you an addiction.

Too solicitous to behold you
Well that’s the path I’ve travelled through.
Endured enough with utmost tolerance
That I Can ever take your absence.

The same outcome time and time again
What happened next was yet to be the trademark of these nights

It was all going swimmingly
No tears, the fears all washed away
No fresh broken veins rising to the surface of my mother's face
No stutters in the risk of turning happy times to grave

All was fabulous, darling

Then the taxi driver came
Prompt, on time, pulled up to the line
Got out the car, held our door, greeted us

We hopped in and he softened the sounds of his zithers and drums and CRASSSHHHH
like that..
Father Jack was back

The Tasmanian whirlwind of Dad
His vomiting of ignorant bile
The tarnished look of shame
The spit escaping his furious tongue
Our blushed red cheeks and the look of fear in the rear view mirror

The want to float, erase, rewind the time to drumsticks and toothpicks digging out smart price nuts from our teeth

To fly to a time when Dad was 5 and be there
Not just fob him off to nearest kids home
'John, she's pregnant again, fetch your clothes'
... and nurture him, tell him he was loved and teach him right from wrong

Those rear view eyes, counting down the time

We cleaned up the aftermath, disinfected the air with our apologies and curtseyed away whilst he licked his wounds

Next gig pencilled in, St Patrick's Day.

Feeling of euphoria dominating that room

That exasperating space of leftover domestics, lust verging on predatory
Unwashed, unclipped, orange tinged fingertips scooping up the dregs of Asda's smart price nuts

I was in my element, masking my child in me
My hormonal fireworks had gone into this moment.

I had made it.

I was 14 and a pub singer.

My family beamed, my Dad unrecognisable
The room roared, happy feet stomped and energetic hands clapped; erupting into our very own earthquake

I took a sneaky mouthful of my concealed pint, covering my modesty in my must look 18 dress

The rockers rocked
The lovers kissed
Eighties fans shook their hips
My father missed... it

The smoke was as thick as **** the *****
It danced in a flurried daze with our quickened breath, singing 'Tubthumping'

If I could have bottled that, I would take a sniff of that smelling salt to bring me round any day

As I stared at the knife in my mind
I banished that imagery from all consciousness

Until now

Monday
should come with
a map.