Mum and I are watching
Jeremy Kyle
which
makes me feel way better about my life,
looking at a bunch of losers
and knowing that no matter how
horrible everything is for me,
I’m not
them;
I’m not in the gutter just yet.
‘Shouldn’t you be picking litter, Jess?’ Terry asks.
He cracks his knuckles
because he can.
‘Just Saturdays, isn’t it, Jess?’ Mum blurts out.
Terry leans on the doorframe,
sniffs
and sips at his can of beer.
‘But did I ask you, Louise?’ he says.
‘Sorry,’ Mum whispers.
She turns off the TV,
jumps up from the couch
and scurries into the kitchen.
‘I better get started on dinner.’
Terry peers down at me.
‘You know,
getting into trouble at school is one thing,
but having the police breathing down our necks
is something else.
I don’t like it.’
I nod.
‘I know.
You already told me, Terry.’
He sniffs hard.
‘You being cheeky?’ he asks.
He cracks his knuckles again.
Mum is standing behind him,
shaking her head,
her eyes wide and terrified
cos she knows that if I do anything
to annoy him,
she’ll be on the receiving end of his boot.
‘No, Terry. Sorry,’ I say.
I go to my room,
curl up on my bed
and wish it weren’t Monday,
wish I were
picking litter instead of here
in this house,
with
him.