There are always rings left
after the cool drink sweats
leaving his mark to be seen
a blemish, a scar, an unlovely ring
that my mom would always get mad about

but being a child
my mind ran wild
and time after time I would forget
and sit
my glass on the bare wood

and time after time
I would run and hide
hearing remembering what I did

I live in fear
every time I hear
your voice growing in anger

don't yell at me.