Last night it rained petrol, it started pouring.
The rain merged into a senseless storm, and somber water and omen drops slowly trickled down the wrinkled silken sheets that Mom never ironed, but always loved.
The drops fit perfectly through all the cracks in the broken roof,
that Dad never fixed but promised he would, and black mist began to fill the rooms.
The storm was brute and merciless, and it soon came knocking at the door. Thick air tainted the bottom of the mossy walls,
where Sister knew she shouldn't, but still painted purple dinosaurs.
The asphyxiating wind ran fast across the narrow corridors,
it took pieces of the broken family portraits that Brother sang to on his ever first encounter with alcohol.
Petrol fell endlessly for days, thunders echoed on the dense raindrops, and the whims of the winds covered the desperate whispers to make it stop.
---Neighbour's house always had sun, and Mother and Father and Sister and Brother years ago had moved to another town
And sitting there was I, watching as the petrol poured down---
I have so many family poems and these are very hard to publish for me. Please treat with care.
