her voice
like thunder clapping
in a billowing cloud.

She raised
the roof.
She was so loud.

She raised
her fist
high in the air
with a laundry list.
She'd swear and hiss.
Blackened both eyes
when she didn’t miss.

She raised
her only child
like a dog,
on a tight lead
in a drunken fog.

She raised
her rent
to the tenants
to pay the stack of bills.
But it didn't make a dent
in them. The only thing
she dented was the family car
after driving home drunk
from the neighborhood bar,
smelling like a cheap cigar.