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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
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