Foundation on a bruise

Sunday was silenced
by Saturday night,
a split lip sips coffee
from a worlds greatest mum mug.

Little ones won't get dressed today,
stay wrapped in a blue ray.
They know Disney isn't real,
they know which characters are at play
and all their lines.

A head scarf keeps her mind
from spilling out onto the supermarket,
sunglasses stop the glare.
Her parking lot fists, smash
against the steering wheel,
fingers tremble and clench
the deepening breaths of a private crisis.

The children risk a glance at dad
as the back door breaks its seal,
his beer goes into the fridge first.
"You've been a long time, were starving in here"
She steadies herself,
ready to speak for the first time that day
and takes a bread knife out of the drawer.

It's a question, she knows will reset the day.
"Who wants peanut butter sandwiches?"
"Me me me" shout the children resuming their childhood.
She spreads it so thick,
they can't see the bread.