A poem of domestic abuse
You are my destiny, you are my book of life, what are you
doing with that knife?
I worship and adore you, never ignore you, understanding and
compassion; never question your suggestions;
Your dinner? Yes,
it’s ready; your shirts are ironed, the housework done. How was my day? Oh fine, I say.
You take off your coat, your hair dishevelled, shirt
ruffled, tie askew. That scent, so
feminine, but it’s not my perfume that fills the air.
You take your seat, begin to eat, spit out the food, it
lands at my feet. The knife, you have it
in your hand again.
I take the dustpan from the cupboard, wash the dishes and
put them away, while you sit watching my every, cautious move
You are everything to me, my world and my one true
love. Closer now, you take me in your
arms, warm and strong; But wait!
Cold, so cold, the light is dimming, head swimming, feeling
tired. Struggling to keep my eyes open,
where are you? The knife!