Saturday, 16 March 2013

The cold plate

The cold plate of food stares at us, we try to eat and are defeated at every turn Mother says
 we cannot leave the table until we clean our plates off.

 Our sister kicks out everything on the floor. Mother sighs lits a cigarrette, when she has finished
she gets up and puts it down burning the tablecloth.

 We look in awe at the heat eating up the cloth



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