Curfew

 

Leave the light on – lock the door

This ritual plays out each Friday

A barrier to the debauched reveller

Who slips behind the clock returning home

 

A curfew for the beer vampire

Who will only find a soothing bed

If father specifically invites him in

After knocking twice and shouting through the letterbox

 

This ancient tribal face off

Between upright father and wayward son

A rite of passage played out

Before bemused friends from liberal homes

 

Who will crack first?

The stiff upper lip never touched a drop dad

Or the prodigal who sits upon the steps

And mumbles Elvis Presley tunes to himself

 

The dreaded tread of descending steps

As pater patters from his recent sleep

And makes a show of rattling lock and chain

Before throwing open the doors to domicile

 

“How many times have I told you to be home by eleven”

“I missed the bus and had to walk from town”

“No excuses boy this is a home not a hotel”

“In that case can I stop paying board?”

 

Then up the stairs as lock fumbling ensues

And a huffing puffing monster trails ascent

Grumbling and mumbling perceived old injustices

You close the door and silence the bitter truths

 

Crashed out on soft sheets

Fully clothed and stinking

Of the brewer’s perfume

A heady mix of hops and malt

 

Innocent or guilty makes no difference

As weak sunlight pierces the morning curtains

Your eyes creak open on a new day

With bass driven head and mouth of sickly sand

 

Accusatory silence across the breakfast table

Mother glancing nervously between the two

Angry father angry son toast and marmalade

And Saturday night beckons like pornography