Author's introduction: When I was a teenager, I took a job knocking on doors in my hometown of Hull, trying to get people to sign up for a security system. One woman answered the door, and it was all too apparent that any threat she faced didn’t come from outside the home. I lasted one day in that job, but she’s stayed with me for thirty years.
Plans
by Nic Benson
Me dad batters me mam sometimes
but I aren’t bothered any more.
I was when I was little though;
I used to hide behind the settee
or in the gas cupboard.
The first time I remember it happening
I went to our next-door-neighbours and said,
‘Me dad’s killing me mam’
and the next-door-neighbour’s husband came round
and told them to give over.
I got really chowed at after that.
Me mam said she’d never had such a showing up
and me dad told me if I ever did owt like that again
he’d batter me an’ all.
Now I just leave them to it,
it’s her fucking funeral.
If that’s how she wants to spend her life,
well, good luck to her.
I’m not gonna stick around and watch though;
I’ve got plans.
There’s more to life than this house,
some crap job, vodka on a Saturday night,
then listening to them two either fuck or fight
after the club. Don’t know what’s worse –
when me mam’s looking at me dad
with big loveheart eyes,
or the floor with two black ones.
As soon as I can get out of here, I’m off.
and then I’m gonna get a job I don’t hate,
my own place, that I’ve got the only key to,
a bairn whose dad I don’t know,
a bedroom done out all in white
with no hole kicked in the door,
a massive dog that can rip both bollocks off in one go.
And a spare bed for me mam,
just in case.
Learn a little more about about me here.
Cover image by Ben Allan via Unsplash