Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Bad Father

The lights convulsed above her.
The street light hummed in the silence.
She was nothing more than a silhouette,
In the neighborhood, dogs barked.

Her heart held no guilt, only freedom.
Her bag held her sins, and her cigarettes.
She wore a pale veil of calm.
Her fire red snarl gleamed against her skin.

Daddy wouldn’t yell.
Daddy wouldn’t swing.
Daddy was finally paying,
She dabbed at the stain on her lavender dress.

Like a tree his arms were inanimate.
He could no longer break the silence.
Only a distant echo of his last words,
Hung in the cold night air.

Fingernails scratching upon the walls.
Like a cockroach he scuttled.
Across the floor as he crawled.
Little, lying, wicked roach.

The clock’s hands were tied.
The windows stayed sealed.
The walls covered their eyes.
The door stayed fastened shut.

In that little shed where he would lock her.
She dragged him with the strength of vengeance.
Nonchalance became her blue eyes.
Her breath froze in the air as the door shut.

The key in her bag would hide.
The heels she wore kept her tall.
When the bus arrived she approached.
Two quarters, and she was away.

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