matricide

Matricide

He stood in the kitchen ironing his shirt,

suit cases packed his mother sat on her

wheelchair in the hall, he could not

afford to pay the rent, they had to leave,

but had nowhere to go.

He looked out of the window the land

was greening now, sparrows sat on

sills waited to be fed breadcrumbs, he was

filled by a pain of unbearable longings

bit his lips not to cry out loud

His mother was ailing, she often said

she wished to be dead, she had asked

god to release her now. Like a zombie

he picked up the iron went into the hall

and bashed his mother’s head in.

Washing his hands in the bathroom his

image looked back at him and said: “you

didn’t do that for your mother, but to

set yourself free.” His image was right

he deserved to be punished severely.

He put his ironed shirt on, looked out

of the window, calm now he knew that

spring had always giving him a miss,

and for the rest of his life he would

always see April though prison bars.