Poetry

He retched and almost choked in it
and as the stinking bile
hit his throat
the dizziness of one too many whiskey’s
hit the mark
and he collapsed against
the chest of drawers.
 
His wife with her cold calculating eyes
reminded him of a dead fish
with a heart of cold stone
with lips pressed tightly together,
 
but there was something in the stare,
something that pierced him
and reminded him of the disgust
welling up in his spirit,
 
and erect she stood rocking the child
her nose inch up, as if he was below her
in each and every way
and anger gave power to his hands,
jerking a drawer out
he hurled it with great force
splintering the wood
against her head.
 
Like a animal that had its revenge
he was turning away
when out of the corner of his eye
he saw red blood
dripping from the forehead of his wife.
 
Drop by drop fell
on the baby boy’s shining hair
soaking through to the child’s scalp
and in fascination he looked on.