This Family Life

There's indentations
on the chipboard wall.

From bedposts
punched sex
and addiction.

Take away menus
on the door mat
glossing over
red gasbills.

Her birthday card.

A worn keyhole
is busted
with burn marks
and glue.

There's a carved name
on the doorframe.

Unfinished
and uncontested.

The front step milk
curdles sweetly
from four days hot wind
sparrow pecks
and piss.

Crisp bags
chicken legs
and chips.
crunch the
pavement.

There's torn photos
in the dustbin.
A teddy bear
with one ear.

There's a blood transfusion
in intensive care.

A little girl lost on the streets.

And shattered knuckles
heading north.

This family life.