Sunday

Playing the victim
For far too long

A gold coloured box that once made music
Now whirs and clunks and stops.

Remembering teeth,
hairpins,
dress hooks,
pins and buttons.
Laid out like bodies in a graveyard
Laid out dead in the sun
Pins in the backs of woodlice
A psychological warning ignored
Waiting always for dad to get home from work
Always waiting for dad to come home.

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