Lockdown Terror

Creeping through to the cold kitchen,

desperate, daring to decant a  drink

into her dirty cup from her school bag

long since hung up, and the small

heart in the little girl clung achingly

to the hope that he would not hear.


Canned from his countless cans,

his cantankerous snoring filled her 

head and clutching the water she 

slowly sneaked past til carefully

clear, and carrying her thirst she 

tiptoes up the bare boarded stairs.


She sits on her dirty sheets and sips

some of the water, saving some for

the next time when he lashes out at 

her mum and furiously smashes their 

fragile life, swearing and shouting til

she, curled up tightly under her bed


breaks down, pleading prayers  to a

baby away in a messy manger, to

move her to where she hears music

but her Mum’s moaning in the bolted 

bathroom, shakily stemming the

silently, streaming blood, hopeless


and lost, deafens her to a crying child 

hurting, huddled in her tight place,

needing cuddles and swaddling.

Waiting til all was finally quiet she

looked from her virtual, ‘virus

barred’ window, and shouted silently,

her pleading pale thin face another


victim of a government, ill prepared, 

blindly following fiscal policies that,

fill the queues at the failing foodbank,

hail racism and mysogeny instead of

breaking the cruel chains of domestic

violence and viral child abuse. Our

children bait to emboldened bullies.

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margins are a great place sometimes because it is where change happens fastest but it is also a horrible place when we are stuck in them and grace is the moment when we can see that someone cares.

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