Sweetly Destroyed
Lance T. Young
Like deliberately setting out to mutilate beauty.
Like using a sledgehammer to pulverize a flower.
Like shoving porcelain vases off of a shelf with casual
Evilness.
I sit in my kitchen and write similes about hitting
A woman.
From where I am I look down into an apartment
Where a man is beating his wife.
His rage is uncontrolled and bestial —
I can hear nothing but the sound of his silent fury
And see her bouncing off of furniture
And opening her mouth.
I don't know why she stays with him.
She will be like a bruised peach tomorrow,
Mumbling to friends about a nasty tumble
Down the stairs
Or a wicked door that caught her on the cheek
As she was bringing in groceries.
Like breaking the neck of a dove . . .
Like a chisel in your heart . . .
Like Evil fighting Truth — and winning . . .
|
