There is that failure of communication,
At least of that soft civilized kind, the
Type that doesn’t involve blackened eyes
And broken teeth and bruises like fallen
Apples. She tries to hide her face behind
Her scarf, pulls up the collar of her coat
To conceal the bruises to her throat, pulls
The sleeves down to cover up discoloured
Arms and long skirts to mask the beaten
Thighs from her neighbours prying eyes.
He is full of jackshit and self-pity and
Mopes and sulks and blames her for the
Messy house, the kids crying, the bills high,
His fists flying. Unconditional love is the
Only real love, her mother said, lecturing
To her on her wedding eve, pushing the
Rosary beads between fingers and thumb.
Nights he doesn’t come home are best, she
Can sleep and unwind and rest. Even the kids
Can feel the peaceful air when he isn’t there.
His apologises are fake notes, they bring her
Nothing, reveal nothing, cast false hopes like
Wasted seeds, open up the pretending dreams
That life is always better than it is or seems.
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 3:21 PM UTC
There is that failure of communication,
At least of that soft civilized kind, the
Type that doesn’t involve blackened eyes
And broken teeth and bruises like fallen
Apples. She tries to hide her face behind
Her scarf, pulls up the collar of her coat
To conceal the bruises to her throat, pulls
The sleeves down to cover up discoloured
Arms and long skirts to mask the beaten
Thighs from her neighbours prying eyes.
He is full of jackshit and self-pity and
Mopes and sulks and blames her for the
Messy house, the kids crying, the bills high,
His fists flying. Unconditional love is the
Only real love, her mother said, lecturing
To her on her wedding eve, pushing the
Rosary beads between fingers and thumb.
Nights he doesn’t come home are best, she
Can sleep and unwind and rest. Even the kids
Can feel the peaceful air when he isn’t there.
His apologises are fake notes, they bring her
Nothing, reveal nothing, cast false hopes like
Wasted seeds, open up the pretending dreams
That life is always better than it is or seems.
Composed in 2010. Few things make me angry such as abuse of children and women.
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