Weekend Dad

Dinner hard-won, the hour draws near,
Initial elation supplanted by fear:
Fear of uncertainty - what will it be,
Will she hit her again or just denigrate me?

Harder they cling, unwilling to leave,
Faces imploring, seeking reprieve.
When none is found, they open the gate,
Shuffling figures resigned to their fate.

Walking is laboured, not through sickness or age,
But pure reluctance to get back on the stage.
A stage where one is expected to smile,
Through mood swings, bitterness and language most vile.

A text message arrives demanding to know,
When they are coming; what's keeping them so.
A pantomime gesture, singularly surly,
Given the fact we're still ten minutes early.

As we kiss and we hug, and we say our goodbyes,
A glimmer of hope amid the tears in their eyes
Speaks to the dream, that the battle long fought,
Will eventually lead us to what we have sought.