The Alien

[heslopian]

I know how they feel about her
how they treat her with some vague fear
as we move among the salmon heads
and pizza plates talking endlessly
about college and work and memories
which don't involve mental illness

as I hold onto my sanity
with bloodied fingers
I fear I'll become my mother
doomed to inane distant chatter
as we gather at intervals
round my aunt's mock Tudor home
which she's spent a lifetime
stripping to suit her modern theme

I know the money for my shrink sessions
comes from my aunt and uncle but
they still regard me as a person
and not as an oddity who talks and talks
about taxi drivers and criminals
and who sits on the sofa in ill-fitting clothes
downing wine and canopies
like a rude guest someone's brought along