UNSPOKEN EPITAPH

you never came straight home from work.
you had a car but would not commute
and each weekend preferred in pubs to lurk
only cosplay-father seemed to suit
one who stank of alcohol
and woke his kids for goodbye kiss.

racehorses had your loyalty.
they reaped the benefits of your toil
while mother scrabbled for aunt’s ‘charity’
running paid errand in meek turmoil
biting back the rising gall
of being treated like dog piss

to feed her children and pay rent
to landlady-granny, daddy’s side
who’d then feed it to your worthless hide
and you wondered at the big resent.