There she was.
Anger etched in
her silhouette,
framed by the doorway.
You see, women get all
upset at once,
like the crashing of a dam,
like the pulling of a trigger.
And there you are;
half-asleep in bed,
drunk in the back of the cab.
The pin’s been pulled and
there she goes.

Anger has always
been a source of
amazement for me,
especially in the women
I have known.
You never know what
will be the final strike.
She deals with you.
She deals with your drugs
and your drunkenness,
all the fits of highs and lows,
all the impossible arguments.
There she is; that beautiful women
that will still pet
your head and hold your hair
late at night after you’re sick
from the drug or the drink,
or some other, unspoken demon.

Until, in one beautiful moment,
that incredible anger
bursts out like New Years fireworks.
You’re taking blows
to the chin and to the
heart and to the soul.
Her eyes blaze with a
hatred, mouth tight and
cheeks reddened from the yelling,
her hair falls into her face
and she angrily swats it back
behind her ear.
She’s a terrible monstrosity.
A beautiful, terrible monstrosity.
And all you can do is watch in awe
as the culmination of everything
you will never be is spelled
out before you.

There you are; in the back of a cab,
half-asleep on the bed,
drunk on the edge of the bathtub,
and you can do nothing but watch,
slack-jawed and scared,
as that almighty anger,
spilling forth from that
almighty woman,
breaks every single bone.