There's a patch
of dull sky
visible through

a parting in
the curtain
of her room

it is morning
Ingrid stirs
in her bed

feels the bruises
on her thighs
moves more carefully

to the side
of the bed
and sits grasping

the day and hour
her father's voice
still echoes

in her ears and mind
both her elder
brother and sister

have now left
last night's row
saw the flight

of the other
leaving just Ingrid
and her mother

and her father's wrath
and spiteful blows
from across the road

in Rockingham Street
the sounding
of the horses' hooves
and coal man's feet
and vans and cars
going past

and she sitting
sensing her bruises
like medals

of a war
similar to beatings
she's had before

Benny will know
he always does
either by her dull eyes
or sensing her

whimpish sighs
as she moves or sits
what's your old man

been up to now
he'll say
and pretends

(from the balcony
with his toy gun)
to blow

her father's
bullish head
away.