Crumpets and Jam

Blue lights.
A knock on the door woke me,
A man with a police hat on my landing.
He chewed on gum,
Mouth open and saliva.
I heard that curiosity killed the cat,
So, I dove into the dent of my pillow.
Cupped in a polar bear’s paw and
Tumbling back into my dreams.

I hop-scotch down the stairs.
Breakfast clinging to my nostrils,
Like gripping hands on monkey bars.
One wrong move and you’re in the woodchip,
With stubby fingers pointing and laughing.

Its crumpets and jam,
The posh type we save for guests.
Oh, the tablecloth is gone,
But, I never liked it much anyway.
Mum is gone too.
Dad hums to the drip of the tap.
A nursery rhyme.
Soothingly, his slippers slap.

It was like the time when Mum
Put too much makeup on one eye.
Dark it was, and purple.
We weren’t allowed to ask why.

Then there was the day when she
Walked into a door by accident.
Stupid Mum, silly thing.
Doors were always shut after that.

We jump as the toaster pops.

Teeth cemented with jam,
I lean over and ask,
“Dad, where’s the tablecloth gone?”