Prelude to Regret
Her father's out –
won't be back
until the early hours.
The TV flickers
in the darkness of the
living room.
Cold tile floor, rush
mats. Wallpaper
chosen by her mother
years ago
cubist eccentricity, a
seventies style
marked down to ten
pence a roll.
Cotteridge Ironmongers,
where the scent
of kerosene and Jeyes
Fluid dominate
over beeswax and
three-in-one oil.
Airedale terriers hog
the sofa
Penny snoring, Jake,
grinning,
nuzzles her hand hoping
for fuss or a treat.
She watches a film,
black and white horror
on channel four
and teaches herself to
smoke
with an old pack of
camels.
Her father won't notice
one more cigarette
among the overflowing
ashtrays.
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