face down
Forced down and face to Your soft
finger tips
You
Smacked me
Clear into the duvet
And with the crack of your
knuckles Beat me into submission
In that old halfway place we used
to live in Named the room of
misunderstanding
My mouth remained tied with
ziplocks And no morning coffee, or
evening dinner
Could soothe your acquisition
What man had I spoken to that day
in the summer of ‘09?
Whose bed was I sleeping in when
I told you my girls were staying in a
distant city that night? Why was my
hair the same - why did it change?
Whose car was carrying the loads
of shopping bags I broke my back
to bring home to you? And the
where’s and the: we’ll talk about it
now’s and not later.
laura
hackshaw
18