when he leaves for worK , she can finally cry .
apologizes for the situation n this
fucK / d up world she ‘ s bringing me into .
nicotine surges through my veins for nine
hours , until he ‘ s bacK home , then it ‘ s the
second – hand smoKe that ties me over , until he
spoons beat her legs , arms b / c it ‘ s
her fault ; everything , that is .
but, she ‘ll protect me , she promises ,
though she Knows she can ‘ t protect herself
from the wooden spoon she punishes herself w / .
curses her life , her past , her existence of
living for someone else – a butler –
on – call slave awaits , perpetually , for the
one w / the Keys , the one w / the chequebooK .
folds laundry , vacuums n slices potatoes .
routine , or maybe a calming ritual .
slams a glass of wine before he ‘ s home
to unload his day ‘ s rage on her ,
debriefing about the idiots he worKs
w / , but is too comfortable to move on .
the cursing flows freely , ” just until the baby , ”
just liKe his cigarettes n nights out w / his
brothers , who drop him off intoxicated n
teetering on the edge of a breaKdown .
” we ‘ re fucKed w / this Kid , you realize that ? “
she can ‘ t worK , he won ‘ t allow her to b / c
that ‘ s the way families worK n giving him
that power over her scares her .
as she slices his potatoes the Knife slips n
slices her pinKy finger n she smiles Knowing
she still has a way out .