His energy is in the lift.
I can feel it on my way up.
And there he is by her bedside,
berating her.
Do you have to make that
noise through your mouth?
I interrupt.
Do you mean her breathing?
Would you like her to stop?
I laugh. It is fake.
Donal does a double take,
lifts his chin.
He has fluff in his beard.
Hey, Marla!
I got you a bag of strawberry laces.
They’ll rot your dentures.
Who are you? Donal demands.
Me? I’m Allison.
And I know all about you, Donal.
Lovely to meet you.
I do not think he can tell I am a teenager.
Perhaps my tone
suggests social worker.
He stands. Downs something
from a polystyrene cup.
Money is up on my parking.
I’ll be back in a few days, he says.
See you later, Mum.
Marla watches him walk away.
Your son, I remind her,
is a bit of a bastard.