In sombre tones the family gathered
The hopeful rubbed their hands together.
Expectation was high
They thought they had
Crossed their ‘T’s and dotted their ‘I’s.
The lackadaisical wanted it over
There was drinking to be done
Places to go people to see.
The table began to fill
One was wondered why he was there?
Another thought the gold-digger was rude
It was obvious she was after it all
What had she done for him
Apart instil in him
A sense of dread for living.
What an injustice, a crime
A slap in the face
For the ones who cared and who stood by him.
But he was a crazy old coot to say the least.
Feet shuffled nervously as the first words of greeting
Brought the meeting to order.
The reader was nervous having perused the document
Anticipating that some would be unhappy
Some would challenge
Some would shrug and move on.
But a shit fight was on the cards
And he would be in the firing line.
But the young, the old, the in-betweens listened
Some focused on the reader,
Some looked at the far wall
A few smiled
A few frowned
The sighs and heavy breaths
At the end came with a sense of relief.
He finished, folded his brief and looked around.
The haughty one stood and walked out,
The downcast woman in the washed out dress
Slunk out trying not to be noticed.
The gold-digger burst into tears,
The middle-aged couple mumbled to each other
A young girl and boy sat stunned.
The bald man in the polo shirt
Looked around, noted who had left
Stood and gathered his papers
‘We all have a week,’ he announced,
The others nodded in agreement
Serious conversations were to take place
Feet that earlier shuffled under the table
Stomped their way out or skipped in excitement
The boy and girl padded their way home.
He took her hand, she felt happy with him.
‘A week,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she said wondering why their lives had to change.