unsent draft messages

Thirteen going on thirty,
His fluffy beard is kinda dirty
It belies that he’s a baby
But his dad won’t let him shave it

Summers round the corner
with the weather getting warmer
The kitchens looking worn,
so he’s busy decorating

Sanding paint and peeling paper
Playing catch-up with the neighbours,
An expert with the scraper
He leans further from his stool

From the lounge emerge faint noises,
It’s his parents rising voices,
Dad is getting restless
But its mum that makes the rules

Skilfully surreptitious
Hearing words that sound malicious
The mood darkens to become vicious
He’s refereed this match before

Nothing seems amiss
When he’s greeted by red mist,
Caught up amidst the fists,
As they continue to even the score

Suppressing waves of fear
Prying fingers he holds dear
Catching an elbow to the ear
He begins to sense the tone

Parting the two beasts
He tries to make the peace
‘Help me hello police!?’
His mother screams down the phone

Out of the frying pan and into the fire
As if the situation wasn’t dire
Now he’s to judge who is the liar
Time is not his friend

Between a hard place and a rock
Keeping one eye on the clock
Suddenly hearing the dreaded knock
It’s time to play pretend

So his mother isn’t well
She didn’t mean to yell
That bruise is cos she fell
All in all she’s quite worn out

Now you can’t deny
That dad has a black eye
But he’ll merely testify
That dad is clumsy without a doubt

Serving lies up on a platter
So charming with his chatter
Pretending it doesn’t matter
He has to bite his tongue

Gritted teeth distort his smile
The officer senses his beguile
But before she can put him to trial
Mum admits that she was wrong

She didn’t mean to call
She was confused after her fall
Of course there wasn’t a brawl
She says sorry and shrinks away

Just 15 minutes before
Dad was begging on the floor
He would never blame mum again he swore
It was groundhog Day

The officers hands were tied
She knew that mum had lied
Justice would be denied
But she had no other choice

She consoled the boy in the hall
And though he was 6ft tall
He seemed so very small
And somehow lost his voice

He wanted her to know
That this was all for show
And was begging her not to go
But his lips they never moved

In silence he stood and stared
At those for which he cared
Rooted as if he were snared
Waiting for the inevitable, round number two