He twisted sandpapering palms, met together level.
With a souring roar, twisting wedding metal, bent in his heat.
Cuffed her rumpling melon head. Tasted rage's sultry keys.
She keened for the hiding faces, small in darkened doors,
sobbing-wetting themselves in relief, confusion horrors
of their lucky night without salting leather. She was it.
They cuddled themselves in safety balls. And blooding spit.
She crawled under stinging rain, looking for cracks in corners.
Her cries thumped out through shuddering breath, like
mourners.
Daddy was the crash monster, purpled with rock danger signs.
She grieved for his tormenting, her failures hung in thickening
lines.
Sunday was calm worship day, but left him, dirty shirts yellow.
The rusting washer betrayed him with her stupidity laying fallow.
She ground her crusted lips hard against sick stupid fat tongue.
Her problems groped in dribble floods of acrid guilts, past won.
It was circling with no doors, she scrubbed, scraped, but
she couldn't get her dirt out. She forgot to buy the whiskey, his
smut.
He was so gentle to keep her. Late night would be soft nothings.
He could call out the stars. Sunshine in gray. Her dummy
puffings.
� 2000 DPMcClellan
