“I never want to see you again!” she screams.
From down the hall I hear a thud,
and the screaming continues.
“Is it like this every night?” my friend asks.
“Yes, every night. I don’t understand what makes someone
stay…” I pause. “…what makes someone put up with it all.”
In my mind I dream of getting up,
of walking down the hall,
opening the door, and ending this.
I dream of making this poor excuse of a man, of a husband, of a father,
pick on someone his own size instead of victimizing the innocent around him.
I dream of rescuing this woman, these children,
from the desperation in which they constantly live.
Instead, I shake it off and turn the volume up on the television.
Sometimes I wonder who the poor excuse really is.
This poem © Kevin Walker. Published August 2012.
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