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you endure bad black
and white sunday night TV,
impenetrable action adventures,
feigning immersion
in someone else’s bleak
unimaginable past,
to postpone the wrench
of home-going.

while the row incubates,
a bickering beginning
simmering like the anglo indian
curry, fragrant, on the stove.
then rages, sulks and headaches
precipitate a door-slamming

you are bundled into the back
of the beloved fiat 2300 estate –
a beautiful mushroom machine
sleek and stylish,
straight out of a 1960s
monaco heist movie.

ill will and intransigence
reign supreme
and rain down a plague
of prejudice and hate.
the recriminations rise
like bubbles to the surface
and the argument sweeps over you,
a storm you cannot outrun.
and the top 40 radio show
is never turned on.


Photo of Fiat 2300 Familiare from Charles.