affection

It's none of my business to remonstrate, so (politely)

I bite my tongue while he farts his sexual excrement

directly over my beloved sister's bed,

where her wedding trousseau still lies spread.

I'm made to feel an unwelcome guest in this

his house - obliging the pair of us to share

the dregs of her degradation, as he drubbingly rubs

our noses in the smelly posy of his daily crap.

Slaps are delivered by proxy, as I taste the contempt

(meant to humiliate) implanted in the mind of his son -

to shun my intended embrace with a face that spurns me -

to turn his back in solidarity with Dad.

But all is well within this feudal farce,

provided I'm content to kiss his arse.