Crockery
He threw the crockery on the floor
And then he just stormed out
Breaking the morning tranquility
Cracking the family mirror.
We then were left picking the pieces
On the white tiled kitchen floor
Trying to make sense of it all
This had happened oft before.
He then returned in the evening
Full of bonhomie.
He had managed to expel his demons
The lucky devil he.
While we on the other hand suffered
As we scrambled to make sense
Of the early morning meltdown
Lost in a moral mayhem.
We are the ones left living with it
As he bangs the door behind him
We are the silent victims
Of his selfish angry surges.
Is the time right we wonder
To show him the door
That he slams so easily
And give us back some serenity?
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