The dark circle showing nights
of not knowing
exactly why things
come about
the way they do
I wonder who it is I married
I wonder if he'll notice
I didn't greet
his staggering steps
this time
I watch
shaking hand pour another
tender feelings I once felt
spill to the floor
with the rhythm
of overflowing foam
I cloak myself
in the darkness
of the dead-end stairway
I step out to ask, "Why?"
Only to encounter
eyes
red
like the soda and wine
he's now drinking
His anger rises with the bubbles
exploding words
Whore. . .bitch,
you cold-hearted. . .
he slurs
Does he mean it?
He's drunk, he can't know
A flicker of mean intelligence
emerges
pin-point pupils
He knows.
This is... pretty good.
ReplyDeleteOne suggestion: lose "mean" in the line, "A flicker of mean intelligence." Doesn't quite fit. Perhaps a different word?
Wow! This is my favorite among the posts you have written. I recognize the feelings and the question. Does he know? I also recognize discovering the answer you feared and hid from yourself. He knows.
ReplyDelete"The dark circle showing nights
of not knowing
exactly why things
come about
the way they do
I wonder who it is I married..."
Me too!