evening closes in
we sit at the dinner table, the round table
looks up with his lifeless eyes
dry, blank-struck eyes
“What’s for dinner?” he asks
“it’s right in front of you,” she answers
we start to eat;
quietly.
my racing heartbeat breaks the silence
sweat cascades down my forehead
and right into my soup
laboured, loud breaths ensue
premonition? maybe it’s my imagination.

he asks a question
she snaps back and answers
they exchange words
whispers
turn to talking
talking
turns to shouting
it’s a match
no one will win
winds clash and a tornado starts
and unforgiving storm
i seek shelter
lest i get sucked into the vortex
and maybe this whole thing is
bigger than me
and i wish it wouldn’t be
in the wake of it all
in the destruction that lies here
i conclude that this house is haunted
for my parents are always mad.