supper is ready

it only takes a second, 

maybe after asking them to

get ready for supper, 

which they'd rather not do, 

and they spike a radio to the

ground and toss their cds

across the room

and kick the table in front

of them and call you an asshole

and tell you to throw their

radio away for good this time

and begin to pound their fists

against their head and you

see in their eyes that they want

to do nothing short of destroy

everything in their path so

you have to act swiftly knowing

that just walking away is tantamount 

to pissing lighter fluid into the mouth

of a volcano and you approach

and have to remember your

training and words like restraint

and control cross your mind and

not wanting them to do something

that will be permanent and as

you approach they swing with an

open palm and catch your glasses

that fly 10 yards and the other

children are scattering to escape

the lightning strike and the 

thunder and you have to subdue

a 300-mile-per-hour hurricane and

in doing so recall how the people

who rushed this into your life 

did so to rush it out of their

caseloads for a reason and 

you've finally got them calm 

and you have a bite mark on your

shin and a pinch scar on your

bicep and you let them up and

they seem contrite until the next

time they hijack normal and toss

your life into a pit of vipers and

you check the mirror an hour 

later when your anxiety attack

is over and you can breathe without 

tasting blood and there on the 

bridge of your nose is a memento

and supper has gone 

cold