In the family room Aunt Betty devoured the dry toast,
I watched on, repulsed, as the crumbs clung to her beige cardigan.
She shoved a foam cup of sugary tea into my hand, almost burning me,
I took a sip to shut her up and felt the bile rise to my throat.
One by one they filed in,
Like cows trudging to the milking parlour.
The tattered sofa squeaked painfully,
Knowing what was to come.
Four white coats, one set of eyes.
Staring at his name badge,
I wondered how many times he had done this,
And how he expected me to react.
Aunt Betty plámásed him,
And whimpered like a puppy.
With her eyes, she begged me to cry.
I withheld my tears to spite her.
(I still don’t know why I do things like that)
Waves lapped gently in my ears,
While the others wept and wailed.
I tried to fight the urge to drift,
But couldn’t find my voice.
Aunt Betty’s sticky hand woke me up
(Another reason to loathe her)
A blue pillow had been placed under my head
And my legs were upward against the wall.
One of the white coats had returned,
The one with the soft face.
He knelt beside me,
As if to confess his sins,
Behind him, Aunt Betty sniffled theatrically,
The ceiling tiles absorbed the news, without even flinching.
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