The Fight

A poem discussing the implications of fighting with a lover

And the battle goes
As close, as deep
As a woman's heart knows
He repeats his request
A simple plan
On his behest.
Onion peels scatter
Like scared peanut fleas
Or an bloated bladder, if you please.
A room above the house
A place for him and I
The patient you cannot rouse.
And the grandmama's boots
Lick the bare floor
Scrapes at the dying roots
And this I know,
my core.

And the battle goes
As I rock my babe
As I pace the bathroom
He repeats his request
A wretched deal
A pathetic ruinous pest.
Apple cores rot
Like drunken bumblebees
Or a red hand caught, if you please.
A corner under a tent
A place for him and I
A bitch is what I meant
And Mama's high heels
Dancing upon those bones
Those upon which I kneel
And echo three, astute moans.