Jack Jordan Poet Free verse

She Was Nine

She was nine,
her sister
older.
He was a big 
thirty-five 
mean drunk 
coming down 
from Saturday night,
slicked-back 
black hair, 
Hawaiian shirt, 
dark
wolverine 
eyes. 
He hit her arm
hard,
uttered an order 
under his breath.
She looked down
(small tears). 
What else 
could she do but
pull away, 
turn away 
sideways,
offer less of 
herself 
as a target if 
the first blow 
hadn’t dispelled his 
anger?
Her sister’d 
been there before. 
She knew 
what to do —
drop back a half-step, 
look down too
(don’t see),
shed quiet tears
for her sister.

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Timothy Hicks March 9, 2013 at 7:47 PM I hope this poem was from your imagination and not based on any actual experience. It's sad with no real implications of things changing in the end. This reminds of me of some of the plots you find in Law & Order SVU. Hope things are going well with you... Jack Jordan March 9, 2013 at 9:12 PM Unfortunately, I witnessed this. It made quite an impact. It's so sad when innocent children are the targets of adult anger. Jack

John Loving Iii February 19, 2013 at 6:52 PM the art of parenting. Jack Jordan February 19, 2013 at 7:09 PM Thankfully, not usually. Thanks for reading it. J

Debra Squyres February 19, 2013 at 4:38 PM Heartbreaking to really know that this occurs in this day and age. You've treated it with "in the face" reality, but with a mixture of a tender hand. Enjoyed the read. Jack Jordan February 19, 2013 at 6:41 PM Thanks for your comment. Yes, it was a bad and sad thing to see. J