I wake to an empty house.
One brother's in prison;
the other has moved to Leicester,
to move fridges, and study;
to better himself.

My mother's not here.
She went to a party last night
and didn't come home.
I don't know where she is,
though I can guess.

I go through the motions,
go through the emotions,
then through the motions again,
Emotion - less.

I get a bowl and a spoon,
pour cereal, milk,
lean my book against the
half empty bottle of milk,
and sit.

Notice I don't mention my dad?
He might be in Cornwall,
or maybe Penhros,
or just two miles away
in his flat.

In other houses, other teenage girls
will sleep till eleven,
be hauled out of bed
to breakfast, to mass,
to help.

I stare into Sunday
through my book.
The curtains are yellow
and faded. The house
is quiet..