To The Victor The Spoils Kae Tempest

In Giuseppe’s
The tablecloths shine with wear
The chairs are threadbare
But look happy to be sitting there
Becky’s cashing up
It’s the end of her shift
Her Uncle Ron’s at the counter
Drinking a Gin Fizz
It’s his place, he gave her the work
He’s like a dad to her
For better or worse
For now, he stabs at a lemon rind with a toothpick
‘What’s the matter, Ron,’ Becky says
‘Are you sick?’
He shakes his head, says ‘Troubles I got…’
And she waits for more
Focusing on a spot
On the top of his head
She ain’t noticed before
But suddenly her Uncle Rags
Comes strutting through the door
Becky sees that this means business
Some things she ain’t supposed to know
Ron smiles at her with thin lips
‘Right,’ says Becky, ‘time I go.’