When D started using again
I hid the wallet and debit cards
in a laundry basket under the bed,
along with the check book, silver earrings,
and car keys. Weapons were found:
neglected staple gun (empty,
mostly likely), red rung
of a quilt rack (could give a good whack),
book of feminist poetry (to distract).
Called a friend, just to have a distress call
ready, then sat, stick in arm’s reach,
doors bolted, porch light searching
for that first step, when shadow would arrive,
followed by the body of that beautiful
raging man. Imagined the thrashing
that could ensue, blew out the candles,
hid the laptop. Thought of the holes
he would smash, into the walls, into my head,
larger than the ones that already lined
my insides, single file, one for every visit,
like a gas station coffee punch card.
This poem previously appeared on the Mulberry Poets & Writers Association website.