Fear of The Wry Grin

high pitch
scrape cuts the air
pierces the barrier between us
silence
knife squeaks again
on a plate of porcelain

flinch reaction one eye scrunched
as if it can block the sound
that emanantes from each squeak
deviled sausage and mash
he cuts his potatoes so we know
who is the only one allowed to make noise

can't stomach the stuff
he waits for a penalty infringement
in the laws laid down no yellow cards
in this game
they're all red
read out like riot acts

can't let his slop slip into my gullet
dry heaves
wrack as force is not enough to overcome
natural body function
I can see his wry grin as he loads
up the plates and swings

fist connects just above my left eye
adds a delicate splatter of sauce
to pristine white potatoes
fist- wall-roof-light-wall-floorboards-table leg
kaleidoscope together in a blur
words slurred
screamed at me
through a partial deaf haze

"Get up you little cunt
or you get the boot"
dizzy carnival ride head
stagger
left
right fall

table leg
boot and spittle
drop in slow motion
gravity is too heavy for me

saliva lands first
a sprinkle of DNA
before the leather sole sinks into my side
the dull thud of meat hit
with a tenderizer precision
that wet crunch-crack as ribs separate
break from the pain as it fades into white

hospital light
lies as I try to explain how
I fell off the back step playing ball
through lips so swollen I can almost see them
every breath scrapes like knives on dinner plates

he stands behind the doctor
with a wry grin