© One Less Egg To Fry
Eyes like a snake’s, she pinned him
With her glare and frosty smile.
A soul like an empty museum,
One hand on her hip, the other
Flicking the ashes from a
Rolled smoke, and cocking her head,
She exhaled a wheezing breath.
She was ready for murder.
He came from the old boy school
Of past lives’ expectancies;
An object lesson for her
In kindness and honesty?
No. He never showed her
Anything but a hollow,
Steel frame containing his lust…
And valueless, devoid love.
Critical of clothes she wore,
Her every movement, and
All she said and did, his weak
Lips punished her. It began;
Progressive manipulation.
He changed too slowly to alarm.
Family called less; friends dropped off
Like petals from a dead flower.
Was it last night she dreamed of
Something sexual? How long
Had it taken to recognize
She was working her way up
To a boxer’s practice bag?
Sweating came from more than
hiding from a reckless, sweltering
Sweltering Louisiana sun.
Today, without a tinge
Of melancholy, her eyes
Slanted like those of a snake,
Her smile defrosted, she flicked
Her smoke, reached for her weapon,
He rearranged himself and smirked.
Took one long stride toward her.
“You don’t have the balls to shoot…”
All Rights Reserved
Mimi Wolske
Oh oh! (maybe he should have read your poem) Very engaging.
ReplyDeleteThank you Martin...I read a report about another victim of abuse and how she stayed with her abuser for years before she finally shot him.
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