anything like that,
so part I must, and quickly. There are things
I cannot suffer
any longer: Mother, you never, ever said
a kind word
or a thank-you for all the tedious chores I have done;
Father, your breath
smells like a camel's and gives me the hump;
all you ever say is:
‘Are you off in the cream puff, Lady Muck?'
In this day and age?
I would be better off in an orphanage.
I want a divorce.
There are parents in the world whose faces turn
up to the light
who speak in the soft murmur of rivers
This reads like an imitation of a novel or a television drama. It’s short sharp demand contrasts with the oddly lyrical nature of what follows.
Divorce