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She does her crying late at night
 

The bar is almost empty, he'll be the last

To leave, nasty Mr Skinful's going home

To cause some grief. To a wife who's too

Compliant, to kids too terrified, what better

Targets could there be for a gutless waste

Of time?

 

Slurred footsteps on the gravel warn of

Anger yet to come, there's not a good

Door in the house that closes as it should,

His dinner must be waiting no matter

What the hour, too wet, too dry, it's gravy

Meat and three veg on the floor.

 

His anger knows no limit, his rules are

Made to keep, his wife can't look at other

Men, yet he kerb crawls twice a week. His

Wife can't look too pretty it might offend his

Eye, he likes to see her buttoned up, no

Cleavage, leg or thigh.

 

Just sitting she annoys him, he hates

Her hair, her eyes, her mother said he'd

Hurt her, turns out that she was right. He'll

Roll her in the sack at night, she lets him

Have his way, she can't refuse, she never

Has, her duty's to obey.

 

The bruises on her back are new, her

Breasts too carry marks and from a hurtful

World she hides the bruises in her heart,

She's not the kind of woman to make

Trouble or complain, she does her crying

Late at night and prays to God he'll change.

 

Did crying make things better, did prayer

Improve their lot? I'd like to say that 'Yes

they did' but fear that I cannot. The cruel

World always intervenes, the cruel world

Always wins, a lovely woman passed

Away giving birth to stillborn twins.
 

© Joseph G Dawson