He swigs on his can, watching out for the Merc,
Another client telling his wife he's been held back at work.
His spouce sits legs crossed, in PVC boots,
Needing wednesday's allowance to peroxcide her roots.
In one long guzzle, he exposes bottom of tin,
So staggers to the offy for it's amber offering.
Where her dad used to sit is an empty chair,
She sits quietly in the corner with a bow in her hair.
"I'm going out now baby." "When will you be back?"
"Only half an hour, if you need ought call Jack"
Jack, her stepbrother, is sixteen years old,
Ignored by his classmates and left out in the cold.
He lives in his bedroom with an N64,
The player two control pad gathers dust on the floor.
Where her mum used to sit is an empty chair,
She sits quietly in the corner with a bow in her hair.
She hums to herself as she watches TV,
In a silky white dress and a doll propped.
She seems safe from the world behind a Yale lock,
A makeshift forcefield of brick and breeze block.
Upstairs her brother's racing car has mounted the verge,
But he doesn't care, he has an ulterior urge.
Where her brother used to sit is an empty chair,
She sits quietly in the corner with a bow in her hair.
He enters the room, slightly flushed in the face,
His body coming to terms with imminent disgrace.
A whore for a mother and father constantly pissed,
Are the excuses he gives, as he cannot resist.
She doesn't scream out, she is used to the drill.
But when the ordeal is over, her lungs fail to fill.
The next day at school will have an empty chair,
She lies quietly in the corner, the bow torn from her hair.
