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.