#1933
He grabbed your hair
pulled it
threatened
you again.
You recalled
the last time
he pushed a letter
in your face
and said
read it
read the **** letter.
But he pushed
you down
on the sofa
and held
the crumpled up letter
and said
what's it
going to be huh?
you want to go
with him
or stay with me?
This time
it was all over
him not
getting promotion
on his job
as if you
were to blame.
You never did
want me to get
that promotion
did you huh?
you want me
to remain
just a clerk
on the ground floor
don't want me
up there
with the pros
getting a real salary.
He grabbed
your arm
yanked you
off the sofa
dragged you
along behind him.
You tried to resist
but he was so strong
when he was angry
that you followed him
not trying any more
to hold back.
Once he had you
in the bedroom
he began
to undress you
like you
were some kid
then he ripped off
the clothes
the white blouse
the one you wore
to go places
the skirt he bought you
after last time's row
but he ripped it off.
You stood there
wide-eyed
staring at him
as he hit you
and the world
went white
then dim
and you didn't
know what to do
as he ***** you.
Jun 28, 2017
Jun 28, 2017 at 3:25 AM UTC
If Id lived in 1933 who would i be?
If id been born a little to the left
Up one floor
6 decades before...
Would I be me?
Of course Id be me
How could I not be me?
But
Which me would I be?
Would I be the Jewish boy in a camp?
Would I have been a poor woman falling for a trap?
Perhaps in 1933 i would have been lucky
In 1933 would i recognize me?
If i went back and saw me
Would I be in bread lines?
Would I be on a boat?
Would I fear for my life?
Would I be a wife?
In 1933 what type of me would i be?
Jul 1, 2018
Jul 1, 2018 at 1:24 AM UTC
You sit on the grey patterned sofa
beside him and he is talking
about things you have
no interest in
but you pretend you do
and you are dressed
in that open(too open) dress
your mother said
that is bright white
and your hair is permed
neat and tidy
and you wonder
what he really thinks about you
(if he thinks about you at all)
and he has that thin moustache
as if it took him ages to trim
and his dark hair
combed so neatly
and oiled too much
and not once
has he mentioned your dress
or how good your hair looks
or what you think about things
he just talks and talks
and looks at you
with dark eyes
(maybe ********** you
right down to the silky underwear
you have on)
and his arm creeps behind you
at the back of the sofa
his other hand is near your thigh
(you can see it
out of the corner
of your eye)
now he's talking about business
(his business)
and how well it's doing
and how shares are on the rise
after the fall
two years ago
but does he love you
is all you really
want to know.
Aug 28, 2017
Aug 28, 2017 at 3:38 AM UTC
When you returned they
Were waiting for you:
A man and woman
In black clothes, with that
Officialism
About them, that look
Of eyes and stance. Your
Clothes had gone; the oak
Wardrobe and chest of
Draws had been emptied.
There were only the
Clothes laid on the bed:
A grey dress, stockings,
Underwear, an old
Cardigan. Put those
On, the woman said,
Pointing to the bed.
In front of him? You
Said, indicating
The man. The man turned
To face the window,
His hands clutched behind
His ramrod back like
An angry father.
The woman stood and
Watched you undress then
Dress again in an
Icy silence, then
Took the clothes you had
Taken off and placed
Them in a bag at
Her feet. The man turned
Around and grunted
At you to walk to
The door. What of my
Children? They are at
School, you said. They are
No more your concern,
The woman replied,
Pushing you towards
The door. Stealing rye
Is a crime, the man
Said. My children were
Starving, you replied.
Are your children then
Special? What of the
Other children of
The State? If all stole,
Where would the country
Be? You looked up at
The dull wall as you
Walked towards the door,
Stalin’s eyes followed
You from his cheaply
Framed photo above
The bed. Was there cold
Humour there? Or was
It just a trick of
Light playing with your
Eyes and heart and head?
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 5:13 AM UTC