Wr2
It was a miserable existence,
that of a battered wife
It was a never ending cycle
of a hurt-filled violent life
She always walked on eggshells,
avoided direct eye contact
Did nothing that would get him balled-fist riled up
She always spoke in a timid voice,
deferred on every household decision
Never did complain when the sex was too rough
Ofttimes it wasn't even her
that would get his pot boiling
Get him steamed and hopping mad
It could be the telly news,
the neighbor's cat
Or the photo of his mum and dad
It was a daily chore,
washing away the pain
that was mixed in with the bloodstains
It was a daily chore,
rinsing away the tears
that was mixed in with the whiskey and beers
And each night before turning out the light,
she has to take her daily dose of verbal abuse
Then tiredly arise with swollen, sullen eyes —
rehearse to neighbors another recycled excuse
And for a few hours she gets to enjoy
a quiet space that is blissfully sweet
Escape in daydreams before she faces
the daily grind of wash, rinse, repeat
Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2016
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