SEEN NOT HEARD.
Seen but not heard. That
Seems to be your parent’s
Philosophy, probably was
From the start, right back
To the time your mother
Spread her legs and thrust
You out. Miji, they call you.
Couldn’t even be bothered
To give you a decent name,
Just some sound that came
From their booze soaked
Brains. You know you’re
Not loved; love has to show
Or be felt and they do neither,
Only come on with the shouts
And clouts and the big elbow
Rejection if you make too much
Noise or smile or try for their
Love. Should have been a boy,
Father says often; girls aren’t
Worth a dime, he moans. You
Have bruises like medals; more
Rejection words than a two-bit
Writer. You can feel their icy
Coldness like a winter wind;
You can sense their chill looks
Even without looking, you are
The daughter they didn’t want,
Like some plague visiting the
Small village of their minds.
You will lay in bed tonight
Listening to their rows and
Fights and shouted words from
Some song from the turned
Up high second hand hi-fi
And wonder where the black
Spider went that sat in the corner
Of your small room’s ceiling;
Perhaps it’s in your bed. Maybe
That’s its legs you are feeling.
