A Nuclear Family

There’s violence lurking in the breakfast things.
Forced to feed in the company of strangers -
no-one fits their mug-shots yet -
sore bears kicked from slumber snarl
and gather up school bags, briefcase and handbag.

The kids strapped into the car
rehearse their faces
to get their faces on to meet the day.
From certain angles, in certain light,
they look just like little human beings.

Dad snaps at heels in traffic jams,
the air charged with stifled curses, remembering the kids
who sit, leashed in and ready, greyhounds at the track
they fidget, keen to get out there
and rip and tear.

They are launched at the school
and then forgotten, while Mummy and Daddy
get back to the knife-throwing routine
they practise every morning.

Sometimes they miss.