Mercury Hours

Standing on the sides of my shoes
Time seemed to be going slow
As I locked you in the car.
Fidgeting from side to side,
Balancing on the edges of my trainers,
I tried to look nonchalant as
You yelled “fucked up, messed up”
Sporadically to yourself.
After a while I went inside,
Dad took his turn.

“It’s all fine lines- isn’t it?
Most of it’s in between”.
In the spaces, we live.
Round 2, I stood in the road
For an hour -
Wearing slipper socks,
Bemusing the neighbours.
My hands pressed flat
Against the cold steel of the door.
Tasting metal as cars squeezed through
The gap between me and the house
Where I longed to be.

We took turns all afternoon
Once I persuaded you to come out.
You ran away and yelled
“fucked up messed up “
from Debbie’s flower bed
then returned to the car.
Mrs Jenkins came by,
Commented on the weather.
I talked loudly trying to obscure
Your “fucked up messed up”
Chanting from behind me.
Hoping you wouldn’t burst out
And shout obscenities at Mrs Jenkins.
Though blood is thicker than madness,
You still know your audience.