Glad

We’ll be going down the motorway.

Because we won. Mother is elated.

We’re all to stay at Aunt’s.

She’s been stalwart.

I have few belongings to pack.

My old mobile phone, some mellow

sketches my girlfriend did for me.

Step-Mother is sour, uncommunicative.

Father has gone somewhere.

I feel buzzy, slightly headachy, glad.

We pile into Aunt’s old jalopy,

and drive.

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