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Night Prose 2 October 2013

Posted by Dr Moose in Life, Prose.
Tags: , , ,

In dark I return, to quiet house as wife multi-tasks, playing on laptop, watching TV programmes I would not choose. I have worked, and she has earned it. Scant conversation, and reminder that daughter’s friend is staying over (didn’t I know before?), both in spare room, and so access to many books, and laptop, is blocked.

Quietly I climb the stairs, and peek in. Curtains unclosed allow but little light, as cars pass, rumbling. Sleep breathes from bed, prompting fatherly smile. Then a glimmer, the tiniest glow, and as eyes adjust I see, bare outlined, back of daughter’s head, and know that phone, much-cursed, why-did-I-buy-it, mobile phone is once more breaking night’s curfew. Ear-buds will my voice obscure and guest should not be wakened, so in quiet despair I turn away, dreading another daughter’s unwakening dawn.

And yet, when morning comes, rain-washed, a pleasant surprise awaits: Amenable, awake daughter. A morning truce, hard truths delayed, until sullenness or frustration break the ceasefire.



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